Falling to Pieces
by Dark Hunter
Summary: Youji falls into a fit of depression neglecting his own health while life continues to take a downward spiral. Many bad things ensue. Yaoi with that long awaited Lemon! Action, drama, blah, blah, and blah! COMPLETE
1. Chapter One

Well, here we go, requisite author's intrusion into an otherwise smoothly blending tale of mystery, romance, drama, and all that other good shit. Firstly, I do NOT own any of the copyrights to any of the characters. I am not making any money off of this personal little project of mine, and if profits are being made somehow... dammit! Where's MY share? All right. Moving along. This fanfiction has appeared online for a while now at varying locations, but this is now the final incarnation. Chapters have been combined for simpler reading, and some light editing has been done, mostly for my missed spelling errors and various grammatical trespasses. Keep in mind that when I wrote this, I hadn't seen past perhaps the first fifteen episodes of Weiss Kruez, so bits of this don't entirely mesh with the further along episodes. Pretend it's some sort of vaguely AU fic if that makes you feel better. Enjoy!  
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I watch his empty, expressionless profile from the corner of my eye as I try to hide my shivering. It is bone chillingly cold out and he acts as if it were just another gentle summer day. It doesn't help me any that in a moment of blinding stupidity I left my coat behind, expecting temperate weather this evening to compliment the day. My glare expands to encompass his warm looking trench coat. It's so much easier to hate inanimate objects.  
  
He somehow catches my resentful gaze and turns amethyst eyes my way. "Your attention needs to be focused on the mission. You should already know that. Act on it." Aya turns his attention back to the ground below, intent on following mission protocol to a T.  
  
Sighing, I tuck a few stray hairs behind my ears and try to follow his example, crossing my arms over my chest for warmth. It's going to be a long night, I can tell that already. Our target has no set time to arrive. While Omi and Ken are staked down at the other end of the street, Mr. Silent and I cool our heels several stories above the ground. And when I say cool, I do mean that literally.  
  
We could be up here for hours more. I'm starting to wonder how I'm going to deal with that. Lying in wait is all part and parcel with being in the assassinations business, but last time I checked, freezing your ass off was NOT included in the job description.  
  
With nothing else to amuse my easily distracted mind I try to occupy myself puzzling out Aya's latest blue funk. It seems to me like he's always in the middle of some fit of either deep depression or intense unfocused hatred. It's not as if there were actually anything for him to be unhappy about. When you refuse to connect with the real world, you find it can do little to touch you.  
  
Fuck, but it's cold. It's times like this I wish for an ounce or two of body fat to help me out... I could almost laugh at the sudden stray thoughts that glide through my mind. Maybe I've found a nice solution for myself. If I can't numb my mind with alcohol and drugs, perhaps I can at least desensitize my body with the frigid weather.  
  
I'm hastily distracted from my thoughts when a sharp jabbing elbow in the ribs almost knocks me from my precarious perch on the ledge of the roof. Shit. "Youji, he's over there." He repeats the message into his wrist unit, alerting our two teammates to the situation.  
  
No time for idle or pointless thoughts now. Our eyes meet; communicating without sound, each of us working out our timing by watching the other. We have little time to spare as we attach anchors to the hooked ledge, fully depending on the metal clamps to support our body weight.  
  
Without thinking, I give into the old familiar pattern, unthinkingly tightening the tension of the garroting wire between my gloved fingers. We four hit him all at once. A crossbow bolt tears through his chest, my wire cutting off his air supply and tipping him off balance for all of his superior weight, Ken slashes his lower stomach while everyone's least favorite red head finishes it by driving his katana into his heart.  
  
Panting from the exertion of attempting to control his struggling, I let his body drop to the ground. More winded than I should be, I lean forward, hands on knees, sucking in breath like there's no tomorrow.  
  
Obviously, killing one man is a job for one assassin, but our sources were unsure of who or how many our target traveled with. Like I always say: be prepared, or be dead. That's the one thing I regret about being under our own management now. Any background information we want, we have to gather completely on our own. Well, not me personally. Omi.  
  
Speaking of Omi, he's looking at me as if he's afraid I'm going to keel over. I feel almost as if I might. I'll be okay. I'm just a little dizzy. I almost say the words aloud to reassure him, but realize that there's no plausible reason for my dizziness, and it would only serve to distress him further.  
  
This is what I get for shunning food in favor of alcohol or nothing at all for days on end. I'm just a little lightheaded, if I act normally no one will notice and I won't wind up getting a pointless lecture from anyone. My health is my concern. Scowling, I try to conceal my lightheadedness, and straighten.  
  
"Well, that's all over with. Can we please get out of here?" I try to tuck non-existent stray hairs behind my ears again. I need to stop doing that. It's becoming a habit.  
  
"What's the matter Youji? You pass up a hot date earlier, and now that this is all over ahead of schedule you want to see if she's still available?" Ken teases me. I shrug and smirk in reply. Based on my usual behavior, that's not an entirely illogical assumption.  
  
Aya's glaring at me again. What have I done this time? Most likely nothing at all. These days all it takes to set him off is making the mistake of breathing in a manner that grates on his nerves. Considering how out of breath I was, that may even be the reason now.  
  
"Don't you ever think about anything else?" he grits out, eyes dark and flashing in the lightless night. Or, he could be mad at me for another reason entirely. If I weren't feeling so out of sorts, my internal running monologue might have provided to be more amusing.  
  
Irrationally a spark of anger flares up and catches. I know how temperamental he is, but does he have to focus all the rage on me. "Yeah, you know me. Incapable of thinking of anything but sex and beer. How is it any of your business?" I straighten up to my full height. If it's a fight he wants, it's a fight he'll get. He'll win; he's got the superior fighting skills, and the body mass, but I'll be damned if I'll go down without causing him a little pain first, maybe bust open that smirking mouth of his.  
  
Standing across from me, his fists clench at his sides, I can see that this is quickly going to turn ugly. His face is blanking out, going into mission mode, preparing for senseless, meaningless violence.  
  
"Aya? Youji?" Omi hesitantly steps forward. "There's no reason to fight each other." My eyes dart his direction, catching a flash of large worried eyes. Aya makes no move and I chance another look at Omi. Knowing the kid, if one of us leaps at the other, he'll be in the middle in an instant. Always the peacemaker. I sigh and back down.  
  
"It's not worth it." Wearily I skirt the corner and head for the car. The sooner we're back home, the sooner I can change and go back out again.  
  
Scowling I hurl myself down on the back seat. What would it take to get him off my back, even for a while? I don't ask anything of him. I don't even bother asking for a little respect or even approval. Obviously I'd never be worthy of either of those in his mind. But tolerance? That shouldn't be too hard for him to wrestle with.  
  
Omi opens the door to my right and I move over to make room for him as the rest of Weiss piles into the car; Aya studiously ignoring me while Ken and Omi chatter back and forth trying to lighten up the atmosphere. Even they eventually give up though, and we all sink into defeated silence.  
  
As soon as the car pulls into the garage I'm outside, striding towards the back door. I start pulling off my gloves and shirt before I'm even up the stairs. I just want to get out of here. I discard my working gear and my clothes, trading them in for something slightly warmer but still skintight, my usual style. Now that that's through with I can be on my way.  
  
I pass through the living room on my way out, all three of them looking up as I walk past. Omi from his computer, Ken from a soccer match on the television, and Aya from some book or another.  
  
"Where are you off to?" Omi asks before I can make a clean escape through the front door.  
  
"Out." I plaster that cocky grin onto my face and give a little wave with one hand, nabbing my coat off the back of a chair with the other, before shutting the door behind me.  
  
I can already breath more freely out of those suffocating confines. I make a quick decision and head for my favorite bar. It's time to drown myself in alcohol and drink myself into oblivion. It's late now; almost two in the morning, and a weekday at that, but the bar is still open. That's what kind of bar it is. One or two of my fellow regular patrons give me a slight nod of greeting or recognition before they go back to their own problems.  
  
This isn't one of those cheerful places you go to "meet new people" or to party it up with friends. This is where the loners, the miserable and the depressed wind up. They show up on their own, drink in bitter, brooding solitude, and leave the same way. It's becoming a familiar pattern for me.  
  
I don't even have to order; they already know my usual. Bring a glass and leave the bottle. From far away I can hear my stomach growling, but it's waited this long, it can hold on a while more. I prop my head up on one hand as I down my first shot of many.  
  
How much longer am I supposed to cope with this? I do my best; I focus on missions, and even though I haven't stopped going out every night, I long ago stopped bringing strange women home with me. What more does he want from me, any of them? I'm tired of seeing so much disappointment from everyone.  
  
Angrily I slam the empty glass down and refill it from the now half-empty bottle. This is what it always comes down to: Me, alone in a bar, moping and drunk. I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them that this is what I really do. The whole womanizing wastrel image I worked so hard for is firmly in place. I suppose I should be happy about that.  
  
By the time I've drained the whole bottle I'm decidedly less concerned. This is the high point of all my drinking binges, the approximately thirty minutes I have of complete numbness before the real depression kicks in. I put up with all of that just for those thirty golden minutes.  
  
I sit for a while, enjoying the quiet in my head, smoking a few cigarettes. At least Aya can't complain about me smoking in the house right now. Sighing, I stub out my last and once again scold myself, tell myself that I need to quit. I doubt I'll get around to it before it kills me, but it's nice to think I've got that sort of will power, the illusion of control.  
  
I crumple the empty cardboard box, disliking the sound of cellophane crinkling. I could certainly drink more, I've built up quite an alcohol tolerance over the years, but I'm walking home. I don't fancy taking a tumble or two into the gutter. It's one thing to come home drunk as hell; it's another to come home drunk and covered with dirt like one of the cities many scumbag alcoholics. Which isn't that far off base either way.  
  
I throw my money down on the counter on my way out, the exact price already engraved in my mind, a tip for the bartender for leaving me alone. Only weaving slightly, I head for home. Well, not home. The place I sleep. I don't have a home; I don't think I ever have. I've never had a place I've felt safe and completely comfortable, somewhere that's I've belonged to as wholly as it belonged to me.  
  
Everyone is asleep. Not a surprise really, it's late and they're tired. I can't help thinking it would be nice to find someone waiting up for me, just to see if I'm okay. I'm being ridiculous. Even I know that. I head for my room, hoping to sleep through my melancholy stage when it finally hits. My thirty minutes are up and I have nothing left to keep me going.  
  
I peek in on Ken, and then Omi, making sure they're asleep. Playing daddy, I guess you could say. Aya's door is shut, and I leave it that way. He certainly doesn't need me looking out for him. He's too busy attacking every little thing the rest of the world does to irk him.  
  
Still battling collapse, I kick my boots off, forgetting every promise I'd made to my stomach. It can keep on waiting. My eyes close as soon as my head hits the pillow. Sleep is the only other escape known to me, barring intoxication, of course.  
  
I slowly regain awareness to the sound of arguing. Cracking one eye open I'm blinded by a beam of sunlight from the window above my bed. Growling, I stretch and drag myself out of bed, prepared to cause whoever disturbed my sleep some serious hurt. It isn't anywhere near noon, and my regular morning hangover is egging on my decision to maim and kill.  
  
Grimacing at the foul taste in my mouth and the pounding in my head I stomp down the stairs without even a look in the mirror. Abandoning vanity for irritation I prepare to engage in one hell of a shouting match.  
  
Aya and Ken clam up the second I burst into the kitchen. They look at each other and then me, not saying anything. Shit, this bodes no good. Were they talking about something involving me? My eyes dart back and forth between the two.  
  
"What are you yelling about that requires enough volume to wake me at this time of day?" I growl, reverting to my original problem. I'm not even going to worry about what they were saying. If it's important enough they'll bring it up later. I have no energy for curiosity in the mornings.  
  
Giving me his infamous "death glare", Aya leaves. Cute. Ken blushes and busies himself putting away dishes.  
  
"What was that all about?" I ask, not really expecting an honest answer.  
  
Ken mumbles something intelligible in reply. What? "You want to run that by me again? I didn't catch a single word of that."  
  
"Aya and I were having a not so friendly discussion." He refuses to meet my eyes. "He wants to take you off the team for a while, send you on an enforced vacation. Maybe forever if he has his way."  
  
My mind blanks. I may not have a lot going for me, but this way of life, this career is one of the very few things I can count on always being there. "Why?"  
  
Turning an even odder shade of red, he explains. "Aya believes you're falling apart, that you will be a liability in a fight, or in any spot of importance on a job. He was mentioning how out of shape you seem to be getting, and how little care you're taking of yourself." He puts a stack of plates away in the cupboard before turning around.  
  
"I was trying to convince him otherwise, but he did have a point. You seemed pretty winded yesterday, and I can't even think of the last time I saw you eat. You didn't even go out on a date last night, did you? You just went out and got drunk by yourself." He shakes his head. How did he know that?  
  
"And what if I did?" I shrug, upset for some reason. Why would any of this warrant my removal from Weiss? It's not like this is something new.  
  
Ken looks even more embarrassed if humanly possible. "I didn't say I agreed with him, I trust you to know when you can and cannot do something. I guess you'll have to take it up with Aya. Don't feel as if you have to change his opinion for the security of your job. We're still a team here." He quickly shoves the clean silverware in its proper drawer and hustles out of the kitchen.  
  
I ponder what I've heard while I swallow some Excedrin. Maybe I should go speak to Aya. I'd certainly like to know what's going on here. If he has a problem with me, he needs to take it up with ME.  
  
I wait for a little while for the painkillers to take the edge off of my headache before I go after Aya. It really isn't any of his business how I'm functioning off the job. As long as I show up when I'm needed, don't fuck up, and still manage to work my shifts in the flower shop during the day then he shouldn't have a problem.  
  
I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth it into some semblance of order. It would be better for negotiating purposes if I don't look like a maniac while I try to convince him that I'm all right. Still wearing my rumpled clothing from the night before and feeling more than just a tad grungy, I start a thorough search for the elusive red head.  
  
I finally spot him in the storage room behind the flower shop downstairs. Lucky for me, the store isn't open yet, or I might scare away all the fan girls with my slightly wild appearance. He ignores me when I storm into the cold, dark room, merely moving from flowerbed to flowerbed, watering each equally; an obsessive compulsive hummingbird.  
  
"You want me off the team?" The words are flat, much calmer than I feel. Deceptively so. I could knock him down and strangle him right now. This is the one thing I'm good at. I'm a good assassin, a damned good one. I can't believe he'd deliberately belittle the one thing I have left that I'm worthy of and capable of doing. Scratch that. I can believe he'd do that.  
  
He finally looks up and nods. Discarding me for the flowers he's tending to he pays no attention to my presence. Normally I'd take that as a dismissal and walk off, but not now. Not while this is on the line, not while the only thing holding me together is in danger, while one of the three people left I can really count on wants me gone.  
  
I tear the watering can out of his hand and whirl him around. "You can't just go around talking shit without even mentioning this to me, or telling me a reason why! I'm a part of this team, and you fucking need to understand that!" I grab the front of his shirt.  
  
"You have two options Aya, you either explain to me why it is you're doing this and we'll try to figure out a solution, or you continue to be a stubborn son of a bitch, and I'll continue to be a part of Weiss no matter how much you may despise me." I release the fabric of his shirt and stand back for the verdict.  
  
Glaring at me, Aya picks up the watering can. Fine, he wants to be that way. Growling low in my throat I turn to leave. I stop when he only puts the can away on a shelf. How like him, can't even postpone making things look his way long enough to have a short discussion, and believe you me, I will keep this short.   
  
"You have to ask why I want you gone? You put us all at risk with your careless behavior. You can't even take care of your own body, so why should we trust you to hold up your end when things get tight. How can we expect you to watch our backs when you're running on nothing but liquor and air?"  
  
He tries to push past me out of the room.  
  
"That was part one. Now I know why you want me out, now, what are we going to do about it?" I block him with my body. He managed to talk to me without dying a horrible slow death, let's see if he can do it again.  
  
I narrow my eyes, starting in whether he's ready or not. "What makes you think I can't take care of myself? I've certainly managed to survive this long; I'm certainly not going to die off this far into the game."   
  
I jab him in the chest with my index finger. "Why won't you admit that? Do you dislike not being able to control every aspect of this unit? Are you going to attack Ken next because he spends most afternoons playing soccer with the kids instead of paying homage to the greatness that is Weiss Kruez? Is that now a liability somehow too?"  
  
"How are those two related?" he explodes. "There's a unbridgeable gap between drinking yourself into a stupor each night and playing soccer with children in the afternoon after your shift. And speaking of shifts, when was the last time you showed up for work on time?"  
  
I splutter, "I show up on time! That's another thing you honestly have no right to accuse me of!"  
  
"Yeah, after Ken or Omi come pounding at your door ten minutes before you're due to show up downstairs?" he shoots back coolly, arms crossed over his chest defensively.  
  
Here we go again. A repeat of last night. Next he'll get angry at me about non-existent dates I supposedly go on. How the hell would he know if I were running on alcohol or not? He certainly lacks Ken and Omi's perceptions, and it's not like he follows me around, keeping track of when I do or don't eat. Who cares if he's right? It's the principal that matters. Innocent until proven guilty.   
  
"What is it you want me to do? You seem to feel you can dictate my life, so what is it you think I should do? What would get you off my back?" I raise one eyebrow, trying to reign in my anger. I haven't been this irritable since I last ran out of conditioner and had to use Ken's cheap shit from a drug store.  
  
"I doubt you'd listen if I told you." He pushes past me, this time using his extra weight to his advantage.   
  
I scowl after him, unable to think of a reason to chase after him and give him a piece of my mind. I already said that if he didn't work to meet me halfway then I'd go right on doing the things that so enraged him. He refused, and rather ineloquently at that, so it's back in my hands.  
  
Glancing at my watch I try to calm down and decide whether or not to go back to sleep. Maybe he was right about my not showing up on time. I try to push that thought out of my head. He can't be right about that, because if he's correct in one area, the same might apply to the others as well, and what does he know? Antisocial bastard.  
  
I find myself absently trying to untangle my hair. Maybe I'll just stay up long enough for a shower. I feel so unkempt right now. That's not something I'll ever tolerate. I guess that stems from my ladies-man days when I actually cared who I might bump into at any time. These days my only companions really couldn't give a shit whether or not I stink of expensive cologne.  
  
Trudging up stairs I can already tell I'm going to have to wait. The air is muggy from the steam spiraling out under the door, the air resonating with the annoying patter of shower water connecting with the tub bottom. I bang on the door.  
  
"Who is it?" Omi's voice calls out, muffled by the door and the sound of running water.  
  
"Can I come in? I just need to use the sink."  
  
I can't understand a word of his reply, so I just decide that it must mean 'yes' in some odd language. Smothering foggy air rushes out into the cooler air of the hallway immediately condensing on my skin.  
  
Unbearably bright morning sunlight streaks in through the pebbled glass of the window. I've never understood what would bring a person to put a big window in their bathroom. I guess it's just me. I go for the entire exhibitionist dog-and-pony-show shit, yeah, but not in bathrooms. Bathrooms just seem sort of 'private' to me, vulgar almost.  
  
"Who is it?" Omi repeats.  
  
"Just me. I need to use the sink." I dampen my hands and slick them through my hair before following their path with a comb, fixing up the worst of it.  
  
"Have you talked to Aya yet?" He sounds suddenly apprehensive. Oh damn, are they all in this?  
  
"About what?" I hurl my tube of toothpaste down on the counter, thoughts of murder in my head. I wonder if you could stab someone to death with a toothbrush. If Aya were in the room right this very moment I think I honestly would give it a try. Put out his eye with the handle at least...  
  
"Oh, I'm not sure. He just said he had something to talk to you about." The hollow clunk of him dropping the shampoo bottle startles me. "Ow!"  
  
"You okay Omi?" I hope he dropped it and broke his fucking toe. Well, no, I don't wish that. It's not his fault. I swipe my sleeve across the fogged up mirror, peering into my own bloodshot eyes. Confused, exhausted, pea green eyes glare back through a film of water.  
  
"Yeah." He grunts back, a very un-Omi like sound. "I just banged up my foot." The water pattern changed, most likely as he's bending to pick up the bottle. Several non-sensical yet still amusing 'don't drop the soap' jokes flit through my mind. Damn, but I'm perverted, even mornings can't dampen that.  
  
I brush my teeth, trying to eliminate the horrible taste left in my mouth by my recent drinking binge, while ordering my thoughts and eliminating my anger. I try not to act in an illogical manner, driven by emotions. It's hard sometimes, but I do try.  
  
I rinse out my mouth and open the door. "Thanks."  
  
"No problem, oh, and please make sure you talk to Aya, it's seemed important." Omi's back to his old cheerful care-taking self. I wonder what he'd say if I showed up five minutes later and booted him out of the shower so I could wash Aya's lifeblood off of me.  
  
I bite my lip and clamp down on my murderous thoughts. I can't react this way. I just need to calm down and get over it. It doesn't MATTER what he thinks. It hasn't before, why should it now?  
  
I bump into him coming up the stairs as I'm headed down. He looks somewhat startled to see me up and about still. Well, he does for all of three seconds before he goes back to playing Wax Museum Man, my newest favorite superhero.  
  
"I'm supposed to ask you if you'll trade the end of Ken's afternoon shift for your morning tomorrow." He bites off every word with enough force to kill a hundred targets, consonants crisp and concise. Gee, he doesn't have to sound so gleeful about everything.  
  
He wants to push me down the stairs; when I walk past him I can see it in his eyes. Of all the churlish, immature things to do...  
  
Knowing what he wants to do, I can't help but jerk back when his hand comes to rest on my shoulder. "Go EAT something. Ken can hold down shop on his own for a while. It's slow in the mornings."  
  
His shoulders draw together as he trudges up the stairs, feeling my eyes following him all the way up. That was odd. I expected to be hurled down the stairs. I wonder if my limbs would have snapped like twigs by the time I hit the bottom. I wonder if anyone would notice if I didn't directly block up the stairwell.  
  
I see very little I'd ever consider eating in the fridge. Shrugging, I trudge over to the cabinets, looking for anything even vaguely edible. Well, we have bread. The factory made sort, white and spongy. I tear the crust off of a slice and ball up the malleable center.  
  
It tastes odd in my mouth, the flavor lingering in my mouth long afterwards. I drink water until I feel sick, but I can't get the taste off my tongue. I think I was happier with the toothpaste.  
  
"You're looking particularly well-groomed today, Youji. So, can you take over my extended shift in the afternoon?" Ken asks as he flips over the Open/Close sign.  
  
"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Kenken. Sure, no problem." I ruffle on his hair, laughing at his miffed expression. He's such an wholesome young thing. He and Omi even out my jaded attitude and Aya's complete lack of compassion perfectly. What a well-rounded team we are. I snort to myself.  
  
The day goes much as I expected it to. Long, tiring, and full of me avoiding Aya and vice versa. None of my fan girls seem deterred by my grizzled appearance, or my lethargic, cantankerous attitude.  
  
When my double shift is finally over around dinnertime I head for bed for an unheralded nap. My energy levels are flagging well below a healthy level. I just want to rest for a little while. Scrubbing at my eyes, I bump into Omi.  
  
He's reading from a stack of papers. Fortunately, his grip on the sheets of computer paper is tight, or I'd be busy scrambling around now, trying to scoop them all back up.  
  
"Information on a new job for tonight." He looks up, blowing blond bangs out of his eyes.  
  
"Shit." What else can I say? I'm coming to dread missions; for all that they have become a much-needed part of my life. I dread the exhaustion, the pointless deaths, and the routine actions. But I also crave them. I don't have to think. I hear the right command and I'm nothing but pure instinct. Shielded in the complete anonymity of the night.  
  
"How many needed for this hit?" I query, trying to decide whether or not I want in on this.  
  
"All of us." His voice implies that this should have been obvious from the start.  
  
"Am I actually required to read the files, or can someone give me a 'Reader's Digest' condensed version later?" Lazily I twitch the corner of a paper, thinking of my poor aching head and the strife to come if he says 'no' to my latter request.  
  
"I can explain it all later," he offers helpfully.  
  
"That would be greatly appreciated. You're going to take over my shift now, right?" I pause to make sure before leaving. One less thing for Aya to jump on me about.  
  
His nod is all I need; I head back to the comforting cushion of my bed. I'm just a little dizzy, nothing to worry about. Sleep now, fight later, and then I can go get drunk. I'm falling into a bit of rut, but at least it's predictable, and offers escape every now and then.  
Another cold night, another kill to complete. The only differences are; this time I at least have my coat, and we're inside. Granted, the whir of machinery all around causes quite the breeze, impairing our hearing as well. We'll just have to cope.  
  
We're supposed to wind up with a disk containing vital information. After we kill several well-guarded businessmen, of course. I'm wondering what our targets are doing hanging around in a factory in the middle of the night. There's no understanding these rich fanatics anymore.  
  
Ours is not to reason why, but to kill without thought or mercy. The click of heels on cement alerts us to the patrolling security guards' where abouts. Us meaning Omi and I. I don't exactly look forward to going up against the well muscled, obviously capably trained watchmen. They aren't the overweight, aging, run of the mill regulars you'd expect to see in any regular place of business or manufacturing. One would have to assume that something exists within the premise that actually needs guarding.  
  
The kid's nervous, hand on his crossbow at all times. I can relate. There's nowhere to go here, confined to the building as we are. My eyes follow the light beam of the security guards. He won't see us up on the catwalk. If we're lucky we won't do anything he can hear either.  
  
"I've located the targets." Ken's voice crackles in my ear; the communication units we use aren't audible to the outside world. "North-West corner, small office sector. Well lit. You'll see it." He's whispering into the receiving end of the device to avoid detection.  
  
Omi and I silently glide towards the west side of the darkened factory. The catwalks canvas the whole of the factory, massive as it may be. They, for the most part, hang only a story or two above the ground. We can safely jump down at any point as long as we take care in landing.  
  
I almost trip over Aya's crouching form. He glares up even as he steadies me. One finger rises up in front of his lips in the universally known sign for silence. No shit, Aya, what does he think I'm going to do, start singing pop songs at the top of my lungs. I haven't been in this business for all these years only to blow it now by being too loud.   
  
I kneel next to him. "Why aren't you moving in closer?" I whisper against his ear, barely breathing. It's an art I've practiced for a long while, speaking without over emphasizing any consonants, yet still making my words completely intelligibly.   
  
"I'm to be the distraction." He replies just as noiselessly. "Did you even bother to read the notes on tonight?"  
  
The guilty grin that steals across my face is met with a disgusted looking sneer. He mouths, "Why am I not surprised." I don't know Aya, is it because you should know by now that I won't waste my time with trivialities? Is it because you're such an asshole you automatically assume the worst about everyone regardless of whether it is true or not?  
  
I give him a hard blow to the shoulder, disguised as a pat of camaraderie. He scowls at me as I pass, the illumination from above glinting off his slitted eyes, the only visible part of him in this darkness. Omi smiles at us, not understanding. He's naïve like that, always believing the best of everyone and being shocked when he finds he's misread someone's not so honorable intentions.  
  
I motion forward, trusting the blonde assassin to follow behind. After years of working together we've got the body language based communications down pat. We don't make a single sound as we scurry across the metal worked plating under our feet, the hard soles of our shoes muffled with cork fittings.  
  
The oasis of illumination is visible even from a distance. These businessmen sure like their lights. For all that their dealings are dark, they don't do so well without their day vision. It's one of those odd ironies I get caught pondering when I'm drunk out of my mind and don't have any other topics readily available.  
  
Ken's voice comes to life in my ear again, startling me. "Guard coming your way, big guy, armed with a gun, be careful. He's actually checking the catwalks, smarter than the rest. Almost saw me. Careful." He cautions before cutting communications again.  
  
Wide blue eyes look at mine, both of us having received the same transmission. He looks around, obviously wondering where we're going to go to avoid being seen. I have a pretty good idea. I grab a hold of one of the ceiling support cables coming down and start to shimmy upwards. Omi catches on in a matter of seconds, picking a second one and making his way up. The ceiling is one of those conveniently criss-crossed with enormous solid metal beams. It's a good enough roost for a short while.   
  
I hit the talk button on my wrist unit that will send my words directly to Ken and Ken alone. "Safe for now. Keep us posted on any further dangers. Make sure Aya knows, he's further down." I settle down, it's not fun to sit on hard metal when you're as bony as I am. Every sharp ridge of your bones is met with resistance, pinching your skin in a most uncomfortable manner.  
  
I can see the flashlight playing about the catwalks as he comes by. I cannot see the man himself. He's behind the light, shielded from my view, as I am from his. He walks briskly; this is a routine check for him. He doesn't expect to actually find anyone lurking around. As all good employees must, he's catering to the whims of his employers.  
  
"Should we drop him now. One less worry if we can manage without alerting others." I cannot see Omi, but I know he'll hear the words through the com link.  
  
"Yes." The reply is brisk. It's never fun when the kid's in business mode. It makes me feel less professional somehow, me being years older and caring infinitely less than he does. I figure, why should I get uptight and worry about events to come. I've proven to myself time and time again that I can look out for not only myself, but the rest of Weiss as well, if that's what's required.  
  
I drop to the ground level on silent, undetected feet. Omi comes at him from the side; I do my usual 'come up behind and choke with garroting wire' routine. He doesn't have a chance to get word out. We're still safe, so are Aya and Ken. Now that one of the few intelligent people around here is out, it makes it all that much easier.  
  
"The guard is taken care of. Wherever you went to avoid being seen, you're safe now. Any sightings of our primary objective?" I contact Ken, speaking of the disk we're really here for.  
  
"Yes, I know who has it. It's time for the distraction to start. You two pick up the pace and get over here." There's that tinny ring behind his words signally that it's an open broadcast to the three of us.  
  
Almost immediately a loud crash resonates throughout the building. Good luck Aya, hopefully you won't need it. The pattering of footsteps dashing to find the source of the noise is our signal. It's easier now that we don't have to stay up on the catwalks, trying to be dead silent. Whatever the hell Aya is doing is causing so much noise it easily drowns out our running feet.  
  
Ken's in trouble. Well, he's in trouble if you count being backed into a corner with ten guns trained on you 'trouble'. Omi loosens a couple of arrows into the few remaining guards.  
  
"Get the target!" He yells to me, preparing for another round. Ken's slashing like mad at the remaining defenders. More are showing up every second. Time to work, find the targets. They're in the glass walled office, watching the events with nonchalant faces and cowardly eyes. How typical.  
  
My booted foot lashes out, kicking the door open. I'm met with looks of astonishment. My long coat swirls around my legs; I don't know how I look, but I feel like some sort of damned caped crusader. Not exactly a glorious image, but since they're playing along, I might just be nice and kill them quickly.  
  
Of course, they're not just going to stand still to let me strangle them, the inconvenience of my chosen weapon. I've got to subdue them first and then cut off their air at my leisure. Hopefully, I'll knock a few skulls open during the soon to ensue struggle.  
  
In a wave they rush for the door, somehow thinking I'll just step to the side and let them through. Six flabby out of shape, unarmed people don't make that effective of a wave. My feet connecting with their heads and stomachs does a much better job of turning the tide.  
  
Four down on the ground, two to go, they're the smart ones who stayed in the back and are now retreating. I'm so intent on what I'm doing that I don't even see the blur of human flesh coming at me until it slams me into a wall full force. I can internally hear my ribs sounding like snapped twigs.  
  
For a moment I cannot breath, the very air crushed out of my lungs. A fist grips my hair, pulling my head around in time to be met by the other fist in a mind-jarring blow. Gathering up my wits with a painful shake of my head, I wrench out of the man's grasp, ignoring his heavy scowling face and concentrating on getting the gun away from him before he thinks to use it.  
  
Taking the first thoughts that enter my head and just running with what they tell me, I let him think he has the upper hand, let his next blow to my face connect, while I lean to the side and grab the weapon out of his holster. He takes a second to think it over, but decides that a gun pointed at his head is a good enough reason to back off.  
  
He holds up his hands, trying to look wronged, and bereft of harmful thoughts. Asking for mercy. Mercy isn't something I do so well with. His blood splatters across my face; shooting him at such a close range was a stupid idea.  
  
Figuring it's a lot easier to off someone with a loaded pistol, rather than garroting wire, I fire on the two conscious targets, and then the four down ones. Being the efficient little assassin that I am, I check all of them for a pulse, satisfying myself that they are in fact dead.  
  
"That one has the information we need." Ken stands in the doorway, pointing to one of the downed businessmen. "In his briefcase." The clarification doesn't help any. There are several leather briefcases lying scattered on the floor. Sighing, Ken pushes me aside, pausing to wipe his claws on some random dead person's clothing. Cute. He grabs up one of the now slightly dinged cases. He simply rips it apart when the locked catches won't give. I catch the jewel case as it flies through the air towards my head. After checking to make sure the CD really is inside, I slip it into my pocket.  
  
Taking a deep breath, I push the last bit of pain into the back of my mind, trying to bring on the feel of a numbing alcohol binge. It's almost enough to make me scream, every indrawn breath, but if I can just distance myself from that... My eyes squeeze shut as I concentrate on not feeling anything.  
  
"You alright Youji?" Ken hesitantly steps a little closer. My eyes open, too wide for normality, I know, but I'm pretty sure none of the pain shows through.  
  
"Yeah. I'm fine. And what do you know. I didn't fuck up here, did I? Won't Aya be horrendously upset?" I take a deep breath and stomp out of the room, fueling myself with raw self-righteousness and anger. Omi and Aya stand, waiting for the mission to be over. We have the information; we've killed the necessary people, nothing more to do really.  
  
"Let's go." I flatly spit out, the anger actually rising when I see the blank expression on Aya's face. You'd think he could at least have the decency to be visibly disappointed that I didn't fall in battle, or at least wind up completely battered and broken to prove him right.  
  
As a unit we head for the side entrance we used to sneak in here to begin with. I don't hear the cocking of the gun so much as see the glint of phosphorous lighting from below on the barrel of his gun. Without thinking I hurl myself sideways, knocking down Aya and Omi in the process. I can actually feel the rush of air following in the bullets wake across my cheek.  
  
I start to roll to the side, only to feel something in my ribs give; I muffle the harsh cry of agony against my sleeve. Oh fuck, fuck, FUCK! Now that hurt. More than hurt.  
  
Careless hands grab me under the elbows, yanking me to my feet and dragging my reeling body behind the relative shielding of a story high metal vat. My vision is blurring with pain tears that I try desperately to dash away.  
  
"What have you done to yourself this time?" Flat, not caring, just looking for an argument. Aya, of course. I don't think anyone else in the world could master that tone so well.  
  
"My day was just lacking that special something, so I decided to go and smash up my own ribs." I gasp for breath as my sides warn me in the only way they know how to that my rolling about on the ground isn't an agreeable action for them. The smooth cool leather of my gloves feels excessively rough as I scrub at my still watering eyes. So much for pretending it all away.  
  
"Broken?" He reaches for the seal of my jacket much to my vexation. Do I look like a child? Does he think I don't know how my ribs feel when they're broken? A second shot rings out, what if he got Ken or Omi!?  
  
I push myself up, gritting my teeth as I go. My eyes squinch up against the dark, trying to pick out the paleness of blond hair, or the shine off of goggles. Neither. Another shot. Two of them. I can hear a loud yelp of pain before the hollow thump of a body connecting with concrete.  
  
"You guys all okay?" Omi. Breathless, unnerved.  
  
"Yeah, okay here. I've got Aya with me." I call back, just as shaky. That was just plain careless of us. It's folly to assume that all your enemies are down until you've actually gone out and taken a damned body count. Where's Ken.  
  
"What happened?" There he is.  
  
"He was up there waiting for us. I fixed in on the shots and got him." Omi and Ken suddenly appear right next to me, Omi's shouldering his crossbow. "That was careless of us." He adds, restating my thoughts.  
  
I nod, not that anyone can see that much in the darkness. "Everyone alright then? No one hurt?" Two affirmative replies and one vaguely positive sounding grunt from Aya. "Let's get out of here before anything else bad happens!" I rake shaking fingers through my hair.  
  
Keeping my posture rigid, I slowly begin to fall behind. The quiet and peace is nice, no one shooting at us, trying to repay our previous actions to their employers. For all that every step makes my breath catch and my muscles tense up, it's almost nice in a creepy sort of way. Until Aya drops back to walk next to me.  
  
"You need to get your ribs taken care of when we get back." He states. "Even if it interferes with your plans to go out and get drunk." The scorn is there, as if he's positive that I'd put my own alcohol dependencies ahead of my physical health. Maybe I would, but who is he to judge? He puts his job before his emotions and his own life not to mention the lives of his teammates.  
  
I say as much but receive no answer. What can he really say though? There isn't much you can say to counter the accusation that you're a heartless bastard when you know that you are one.  
  
As alert and high-strung as we are now, we don't catch any more signs of survivors. Either we're lucky and they're all dead, or the remaining few were smart enough to run and hide. The car is still where we left it, of course. Time to go home. Then I can get someone to jab their fingers into my broken ribs trying to see how much agony they can cause me before actually doing something to fix up the root of the problem. Or maybe I'm just being optimistic.  
**************  
You likes? You hates? Lemme know! akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com (both are valid addresses, despite the callous sound of the second) Cookies or varying sorts of confections are always welcome! 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two. What else can I say? I used up my bubbling enthusiasm in the author comment department the first few go-rounds with this fanfiction. Longer chapters, shorter schpiel! Yay!  
**************  
I manage to escape Aya's vindictive clutches and retreat to my room. As long as I lie still and take shallow breaths, the discomfort isn't overwhelming. It's cold in here, unbearably cold. I had opened the window before I first lay down, and let me tell you, my ribs didn't like that bout of activity either. Now the thought of getting into motion again and wrestling with the stubborn, warped wood frame is just too much.  
  
A light knock at the door. I'm assuming it's Omi, here to make sure I'm all right. Being Omi, he was bound to notice I wasn't in the best of shape. This should be fun. I wonder if I can convince him to go away without actually moving anything or breathing at all.  
  
"What do you want? Just come in, I can't hear you through the door." The words sound weak with no breath to back them up. I'll have to work on that when I care enough to give a damn.  
  
The door pushes open just enough to allow him to come in, the silhouette of the tray in his hands pretty much confirming his identity for me. The door is carefully shut while he presumably balances the tray. Footsteps shuffle around in the room just barely illuminated by an outside street lamp down the way. You don't get much from the moon itself in the middle of a city.  
  
"You think it's dark enough in here?" The words are dry and caustic. They also are definitely not coming from Omi's mouth. In fact, I'd almost bet my life that the voice belongs to Aya.  
  
"You want the light on while you bother me, go right ahead." I carelessly gesture with my hand, not really bothering to remind myself that he cannot see me anyway.  
  
I hear the clink of the tray he was holding being set down on my desktop before the footsteps move away and the overhead lights do their best to blind me. With an indrawn hiss of breath, I cover my eyes with bare forearm, side drawn taut.  
  
Cool fingers push up my shirt a bit more, past my ribs. Somewhere or another I find the incentive to sit bolt upright and push him away. "Don't need your help." I mumble, choosing pride over pain, and what a pain it is!  
  
He walks over to my desk, picking up the tray and setting it down on the end of my bed. I don't bother to look at its contents. It's probably nothing but medical supplies: scary looking surgical knives and various appliances that look like modern torture devices.  
  
"I'm not going to leave until you let me take a look at your ribs." Flat. Emotionless. As usual he's being his warm and caring self. Unlike his freezing cold hands. Considering the fact that the air temperature has me shivering, if his hands are that noticeable, I'm thinking it's time to buy the boy some gloves.  
  
"There's nothing wrong with my ribs, honestly! I just twisted my body to a bad angle back at the factory. There's no significant damage done to any part of my body." I fall back slightly, my elbows bent and propping my upper torso up, shoulders thrust forward.  
  
Aya stares me right in the eyes, contemplating some twisted "Aya" type thing, or another before curling his fingers and punching me in the side. That's about the point where I black out.  
  
My eyelids resist the effort it takes to open them again. It's still dark out. How long have I been unconscious? I start to push myself upright, the pain in my ribs has strangely abated. My cautious fingertips probe my sides, meet with the sensation of skin rather than cloth. My shirt is gone. I spot it folded neatly at the foot of my bed in a moment, the tray is no longer occupying that particular spot.  
  
What happened? I stand too quickly and fall to my knees, leaning against the bed for support. The room shouldn't be spinning, should it? The door creaks behind me, but I only register it through a haze of nausea. I'm going to be ill pretty soon.  
  
"Going to be sick." I gasp out, trying to make it clear to whoever entered the room, trying to struggle to my feet while the spinning of the room does its best to topple me once again.   
  
Someone supports my weight and helps me stumble to the hallway, and then down to the darkened bathroom, flicking the light in passing. I tear myself loose just in time to go into a series of dry heaves over the toilet. My hair is pulled back from my face, discombobulated fingers tucking the too-short strands around my face behind my ears.  
  
The retching only lasts for a few minutes, though they certainly drag on like hours. My trembling limbs threaten to give out on me the whole while, but I persevere. When the queasiness passes I shift back, leaning against the solid weight of my helper.  
  
"Are you alright?" It's Aya again. Doesn't he have anything better to do with his time? I can't force myself to move yet; I need a few more seconds to stop shaking. My hair is released and it tumbles down around my face again, I revel in the way it hides my face from his prying eyes. I don't have to pretend to be strong for a few minutes.  
  
"I didn't mean to cause you to lose consciousness. I only meant to prove the point that you obviously weren't fine." Almost a hint of remorse there. Almost. I think he is worried he might have done more damage, making me into more of a hazard for Weiss as a whole. He'd better believe I wouldn't let a little thing like that keep me from my night job. Now, my day job... that's another story.  
  
"Yeah." I lean forward, the pain in my sides subdued to a tolerable level. It takes more strength than I thought it would to pull myself to my feet on the edge of the counter, but as it usually does, in the end my body gives in and does what I want it to.  
  
I hang wearily over the sink, splashing water on my face and sipping some from my cupped hands. My stomach seems to have settled, no problem now. I glance up into the mirror. The whole right side of my face is swollen from alternately being banged into a wall and being punched with a fist. Funny, it doesn't' feel that bad at all. My eyelashes spike together, glistening from the cold tap water. Wow, I look like at least a million dollars right now. Note the sarcasm. If good looks came from a thrift store, that would be me right now.  
  
Aya hovers nearby, refusing to meet my bleary eyes in the mirror. "What?" I tuck hair behind my ears. He doesn't reply, merely stands behind me, twisting the hem of his shirt, unsure what to do with his hands.  
  
"If you have something to say, spit it out." That good old nicotine craving is starting to hit me, blowing everything out of proportion on the irksome scale inside my mind. My fingers want to claw at the smooth marble counter top, want to scrabble along the walls, dragging my body behind them until they can get a hold of the cigarette they want oh so much right now. Another fault for Aya to jump on.  
  
Sighing, I take a few steps before stumbling on the bathmat, graceful as always. Aya's hands cup my elbows again, déjà vu. I wrench away and stomp down the hallway back to my room. If I just lie down for a little while everything will fix itself on its own, and if it doesn't I'll find the energy somewhere to go out and get drunk.  
  
I kick the door shut behind me, the room dark once again, just the way I like it. Alone with my thoughts finally, I collapse face down on the mattress, nose flooded with the sent of my own shampoo. It's still cold here, but I don't mind for once. The cold is sort of pleasant, raising goose bumps on my bare back.  
  
I feel the urge to scream as the door opens once again. If it's Aya with surgical gloves and a needle I'm really going to. Or maybe he's got brass knuckles this time so he can do it right when he decides to inflict more bodily harm in the name of first aid.  
  
A soft hand on my shoulder, the cool skin not as noticeable anymore. "Sit up. You need to eat."  
  
Oh fuck; is he trying to drive me insane, plaguing every moment of my days and nights? Growling, I turn my head away from him. "Not interested. No Interest. Go away." I close my eyes and wish for a cold breeze to come through the window. Something to clear away the cobwebs in my head and to ease the heated ache behind my eyelids.  
  
"If I have to I will physically drag you up into a sitting position like the stupid child you are." Thems are fighting words, and he knows that.  
  
"Alright I'm up. What the hell do you want? You want to spoon feed me goddamned 'Chicken and Stars' soup?" I glare up at him. The light from the window harshly lights his frame, the tray in his hands. I swear he's trying to freak me out by pulling an Omi act.  
  
"No stars in this soup. I didn't see any in the kitchen." Aya sets the tray in front of me. I'll be damned; there really is a bowl of soup on it.  
  
This is almost frightening. Did he poison it? That would be a nice twisted, homey sort of gesture on his part. Here, have some soup, I cooked it all myself, just a few special ingredients of my own: some salt, some (cough) Drain-o, saltine crackers, and milk.  
  
"I'm sure you can still feed yourself though." He hooks the chair in front of my desk over with his foot. Apparently he's going to sit and watch while I eat. Why doesn't he just give up and drip it into my arm with an IV, stubborn son of a bitch. Steam rises from the liquid only to be whisked away by moving air from the open window.  
  
Aya's eyes follow the breeze backwards to the source. He levers himself to his feet, intent on closing the window.  
  
"No. Don't." I catch his sleeve as he passes.  
  
"You're shivering. It's cold." He explains as if it somehow makes all the sense in the world. I scowl and ignore his matter of fact attitude.  
  
"I'm not cold. It's my room. Don't shut the window. I'm eating your damned soup aren't I?" I blow on the spoonful before raising it to my lips, the warm liquid gliding down my throat, easing an ache I hadn't noticed up until this point. My body immediately reassures me that this is what it wants, what it's been waiting for.  
  
Why soup, I have to wonder. Soup is what you give invalids. I'm not sick, just tired and sore, though the latter of those complaints is certainly fading the longer I stay stationary. It's good though; for all that it's probably the cheap condensed kind from a tin can. He didn't even think to bring up some saltine crackers. How Aya like. I guess in his book crackers aren't necessary, merely a luxury. That description applies to a lot of things I do that he hates.  
  
It quickly becomes apparent that I don't have room in my stomach for all the soup. I certainly try though. What can I say? It's a big bowl and my stomach is used to being empty. Aya watches each trip the utensil makes from the tray to my mouth, studying the way I start to slow as I loose my appetite.  
  
The metals ring against each other as I drop the spoon down, wearily rubbing at my eyes, wincing as I come in contact with the bruised side of my face. Aya moves the tray to the side but makes no move towards the door.  
  
"You will be out of commission while you heal. I don't want any accidents."  
  
My temper flares up. "You mean you don't want any accidents caused by me. I'm a big boy, I know when I can and cannot take care of myself. Don't presume to know me better than I know myself. You barely know the first thing about me. How could you? You're too wrapped up in your self-absorbed morbid contemplations."  
  
His eyes narrow, unable to see me with my back to the light as it is. He sweeps to his feet, all ice and bottled up anger as he storms past, back out into the rest of the world. He leaves the tray, maybe hoping I'll eat the rest of the soup and not die of malnutrition, maybe just not caring either way.  
  
I turn towards the window, crawling forward across the blanket on my knees, bunching up the unmade sheets and covers. The winter outside is more than glad to lend a hand, numbing my body. My thoughts are already packed in cotton, resting in muffled graves.  
  
On a whim I shuffle into my shoes, pulling a coat on over my bare torso, silently tip-toeing down the stairs escaping even Aya's detection. Is it colder outside without solid walls to shield me from racing winds? Will everything shut down, giving me peace for a little while?  
  
I stop at the back porch, sitting on the steps, feeling the cold cement through my jeans. I lean my head up against the columns holding everything up. It's nice out. I shrug my coat off, ignoring the shivering of my body.  
  
It takes some energy, but I drag myself upright, clambering up to sit on the rail, facing into the wind. Hair whips around my chin, gliding like silk across my cheeks. My palms cup my cheeks, the skin of my face icy and fake feeling. I run fingertips down my neck, across my skin. None of the sensations register on my body. It feels almost like touching a corpse. An empty body.  
  
I wonder how much effort it would take to go back and get a shirt and hit the bar. I'm thinking too much, about things I shouldn't. Why should it matter if I'm empty and hollow inside? It doesn't matter. No one is perfect and happy all the time, and they just keep going anyway.  
  
I cover my eyes and concentrate on the numbing of my body. All I want is to feel nothing.  
  
I almost fall over backwards when burning hot hands press against my shoulders. I actually do when I turn my neck to identify the culprit. I crash down on top of solid human flesh. I don't even have to look to see who it is. This is quickly turning into some sort of feverish nightmare. Can't Aya leave me alone?  
  
I try to shout at him but I can't stop shaking long enough to get a good breath. I settle for ineffectively pushing him away.  
  
"You are a stupid moron!" He harshly growls, snapping my coat up from the ground and hurling it at me. I'm taken aback by the look of rage on his face. What's he angry about now? "Are you trying to die?"  
  
I consider that question. I'm not quite sure myself. Finally I settle on shrugging in reply. The inquiry has captured my mind though. Do I want to die? Hasn't that always been an option I've been wholly against? A better question is do I want to actively make the effort to do something like that? Isn't it easier to just sit here and let my body run down on it's own.  
  
"What are you doing sitting out here? I thought you were busy playing the martyr. Planning another trip out on the town?" He angrily stomps around the porch. This is more emotion then I usually see from him. He must be tired.  
  
"I was just thinking." I rub at my eyes, pushing the coat off of my knees and onto the ground. "It's nice out here. I like the cold." I turn my eyes skyward and ignore Aya's intruding presence. This is MY solitude; he can't ruin it.  
  
He snatches up the coat with one hand and grabs my upper arm with the other. "Get up." No other options then? I can barely feel the pressure either way. Just the heat. I thought his skin was cold before. I sway forward as my legs decide my full weight is too much after sitting for so long.  
  
He mutters curses under his breath in a most un-Aya like fashion as he half-drags me back into the house. He slams me down on the couch and storms out of the room. I halfheartedly stare at the dark doorway he went through.  
  
I hold up my shaking hands, turn them over, looking at the transparent skin of my wrists. I can see my veins through the skin; can see the patterning on my skin formed every time my wrists bend. It looks so fragile up close. The purple/blue veins are too close to the surface, visible to anyone who cares to look at such a vulnerable part of my body's inner workings.  
  
The blanket is hurled down next to me, actually bouncing from the force. I blankly eye the worn blanket from the linen closet before staring up at Aya with a complete lack of comprehension.   
  
Growling, he clumsily drapes it around my shoulders. He steps back and glares as I simply sit there, the fabric sliding down a bit under it's own power.  
  
"I'm not cold." My teeth don't chatter so much when I say it. Not that he'd take my word for it even if they didn't. I, being Youji, must automatically be lying, right? Fuck, but Aya's a rotten bastard. I tell him as much with a lot more curse words thrown in to boot.  
  
His mouth tightens but he refrains from commenting on the obvious, such as: if I'm so intelligent, why was I outside without a coat or a shirt? He grabs the ends of the blankets and pulls them together in front of me, avoiding any contact with my skin.  
  
He sits down next me, staring at the ground. I let the blanket go and it sags down again. It doesn't matter. I don't feel cold. I don't feel anything at all, and that's the point.  
  
He's studying my profile; I watch him out of the corner of my eyes. What is he looking for? Is he looking for an explanation for my erratic behavior, or a reason to put me out of my misery?  
  
"What's wrong with you?" The words are soft, for once meant as an honest question, not a rude insult. Aya must have gone off his rocker. I'm almost positive he's just broken almost every one of the odd unspoken rules he lives his life by.  
  
I shrug again, rubbing ineffectually at my eyes. My skin is still cold and bereft of sensation. "I was just thinking. Nothing wrong."  
  
"Thinking?" Still calm and less angry. There must be some sort of trap he's springing. He must be trying for an admittance of weakness from me. He's still looking for a reason to kick me off the team, separate me from Weiss.  
  
I concentrate on memorizing the contours of my knees, hair swinging forward, blocking my peripheral vision. He can go fuck himself then. Such vehemence from me is uncommon as of late, the raw emotion startling me. I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on blanking out again.  
  
I am not useless. I am doing my job well; I am kicking ass for the good guys. I shouldn't worry about anything. All is going well. There's nothing wrong with me.   
  
I start up the familiar litany that never manages to ingrain itself into my subconscious. There is nothing wrong with me. I feel fine. I feel nothing. All is going well.  
  
I flinch as a hot palm grips my bare shoulder. This is my time; the night is when I have the world to myself. Why does he keep intruding? I shift away from the burning touch. I don't want to feel. What part of that is he unable to understand?  
  
"What were you thinking about?"  
  
"If I tell you, will you fuck off and leave me alone?" I try to keep the hope out of my voice. That will be an easy solution. I come up with some sane sounding, condensed version of my thoughts and in return I get peace for a short while.  
  
He hesitantly nods. I smirk inwardly. It would be fun to make up a story about how I was dwelling on the many painful ways to end his life, but I try not to lie if I can help it.   
  
"I was just wondering why I couldn't be numb to the world, to everything. I was wondering why I get up every morning when there's no point. That's all." I shrug and try to lift up my tone to match my usual attitude. 'Do you want to die?' The words echo in my mind, a private after thought.  
  
Yes. I do. But I don't want to be the one responsible. I don't want to be the one to slice the vein or pull the trigger. I want a death I'm not directly responsible for. I don't deserve the easy way out, I never have.  
  
"Those are bleak thoughts." His hand starts to reach for the covers around my waist, only to pull back and start twisting the hem of his shirt again. Without thinking, I tuck loose hair behind my ears. I pause.  
  
I glance over; Aya's still doing his damndest to twist the fabric into a knot. I play with the ends of my hair. A nervous gesture. Is Aya nervous? I fixate on his pale fingers, clenching and unclenching. Stare at his tight, miserable expression.  
  
I clear my throat. "I thought you were going to leave." This is all bringing on too many pointless thoughts. It's not that I'm slow or cannot cope; I simply refuse to.  
  
Aya starts to stand-then stops. "I'm not leaving you alone until you're back in bed with a promise that you're staying inside this house until morning light." He looks so pathetically pleased to have a purpose that I stop myself from bursting his bubble.  
  
How can I complain about his manner of coping? He does his thing; I do mine. I rise to my feet, calling up what little grace I have left. I turn on my heel and unsteadily make my way towards the stairs. I can do this. No problem. Everything is all right.  
  
My door is still open, the air frigid, just the way I crave it. I crawl onto the bed, upper body slumping down over my legs, kneeling in a submissive, beaten position.  
  
He stomps past me, slamming the window down with vicious force. He dumps the closet blanket down next to me for extra measure. Being the obsessive-compulsive neat freak he is, his next stop is my closet where he hangs up my jacket.  
  
I gaze regretfully at the window, longing to be outside again. His presence stops right behind me, facing my back. No words. I can almost feel that baleful glare that always graces his features.  
  
"I'm in my room."  
  
"You're not resting. What the hell is your problem? Do you get some sort of sick satisfaction out of being so damned stubborn?" He starts to continue on with the tirade but manages to clamp his jaw shut before more slips out. Apparently he's used up his allotment of words for the month. He'll just have to write IOUs for any future conversations.  
  
I gingery shift so I'm facing him again. He's wringing his shirt again. "Any particular reason why you're all but stalking me?"  
  
"Because, damn it! If I wake up in the morning and you're dead and I could have done something to prevent it, that's just one more death added to my back. It's bad enough when it's someone I've never even met before, but I've known you for a while now, and as much as I hate to admit it, I'm involved." He slams his hand down on my desk.  
  
I blink and try to sort through my shocked thoughts. Aya, feeling guilty? I have lost my mind. I'm having drugged illusions. "You're worried about me?" I don't manage to stifle the chuckles bubbling up in my throat in time.  
  
His expression goes from awkward embarrassment to self-righteous rage in about two seconds flat. Oops. That was a stupid mistake on my part. Shit indeed.  
  
"You're right. I shouldn't have wasted my time." He stalks out of my room, leaving the door open. I swallow. That hurt. A waste of his time. I don't know if he was just angrier or more honest than usual, but those aren't words I'd want to hear out of anyone's mouth pertaining to me. A waste of time...  
  
I close my eyes and picture the expression on his face again. That unsure look seemed almost out of place on those usually Spartan, detached features. I sigh and curl up on my side, feeling suddenly childish and more alone than ever.  
  
I shake my head. This is Aya I'm thinking about. I imagined that look. Aya is never unsure. He has the world at his feet and he's well prepared to trample it until it gives him what he wants. There's no place in his disposition for hesitation, for lack of confidence.  
  
What if I'm wrong though? What if he was trying to do something nice for a change? People can be altered by time. I picture his eyes again, blanking for a second before flaring up in all their violet defensive rage. Cursing anything and everyone I can think of, I kick my shoes off and silently pad down the hall. Damn my human scruples.  
  
I pause outside his shut door, running a finger over the cool metal of his doorknob. So cold. Everything is so cold. "Aya?" I whisper against the wood. If he doesn't hear I'll just go back to my room. It doesn't matter if he hears. It would be better if he doesn't. Loosing my resolve I turn to leave.  
  
The door swings inward. Silence greets me. I should have knocked. I could have brushed that off as an accidental stumble, but not speaking. I can't claim I just brushed against his door this way. I twist my neck. His face is closed off, eyes narrow, skin ghostly in the fluorescent light of the hallway.  
  
"I-I wanted to apologize." I mumble finally, eyes downcast. That was stupid of me. I'm not responsible for him, for how he feels. I'm not even able to control those aspects of my own emotions.  
  
"For?" He's not helping me out any here. I didn't suppose he would. I was being a fucking asshole towards him the whole time. The stupid prick made me soup. Aya doesn't even like walking through the kitchen and he went and made me soup. I sigh.  
  
"For being so difficult. For insulting you and belittling your assistance, even if you did punch me in my broken ribs." I summon a familiar, often-used, rueful grin.  
  
"Not broken, a few cracked, mostly badly bruised." He automatically corrects me, forgetting himself. Somber eyes in a serious chiseled face, he looks like a statue, not even blinking.  
  
I nod. It certainly felt worse than that earlier, but I'll take his word for it. "I'm sorry." I repeat for good measure. I rub at my eyes again, so very tired, so very, very numb.  
  
When the stars against the black of my eyelids clear I open my eyes again to find a pale hand being offered to me.  
  
"I don't talk that often, but I'm a good listener." Even less emotion in his face, drained of all humanity, waxen.   
  
I hesitate before I catch sight of his other hand, twitching at the long sleeve of his shirt. I swallow before reaching out and briefly clasping his hand, almost regretting it when the flesh is released. He doesn't feel like a carven image, but more real than I do.  
  
"Would you mind? If I stayed and talked with you? Just for a little while?" I gaze at him through my eyelashes, unsure of any of my actions, my decisions. Have I misread him? Is he simply playing the dutiful comrade for his own amusement?  
  
Aya steps back and gestures inwards, towards the gold lit confines of his bedroom. Biting my lower lip, I step past him. I try not to jump as the door soft closes behind me.  
**************  
Ha! What do you say to that! Nyah! Darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com or Akainobaka@mchsi.com 


	3. Chapter Three

And still you read on, -sets up a refreshment booth for bystanders- Bon appetite!   
**************  
His room holds none of the chill that mine is renowned for. I haven't ever been in his private sanctuary before, for all of the time that we've shared this house, shared a career. Bedrooms are like bathrooms. Private. Somewhere you certainly don't want the rest of the world gawking at your and grinding their heels into your bared vulnerability.  
  
I stand in the middle of the room, wiggling my toes in the plush carpet, unsure of what to do with myself. Aya stands against the door, staring off into nowhere, equally uncertain of what to do now that a temporary truce has been reached.  
  
This is going beyond the realm of awkward into actual painfulness. I swallow and rub my eyes, playing with my hair when the ache in my eyes is pushed back some.  
  
"What's wrong with your eyes?" I can't help but jump when Aya speaks, the silence broken in a most unexpected manner.  
  
"Nothing." I pause, thinking about how many times I've used that one word as an answer to subjects I don't want to talk about. "They just ache. From lack of sleep." I clarify, the direct openness difficult but tolerable.  
  
He says nothing. He's started in on his clothing hems again. It's a wonder he has anything left to wear if he does this whenever he's nervous. Though, considering this is AYA we're speaking of, I doubt he often experiences emotions like unease. So why now?  
  
I laugh softly to myself, unable to help it. Look at us. A couple of grown men standing around fidgeting because we can't figure out what the hell to say to each other once we're not busy arguing about trivial little issues.  
  
"Are you hungry again?" Aya looks like he wants nothing more than excuse to bolt. He has good reason. This was a big mistake. I can't trust anyone but myself. He was trying to help, maybe to make up for threatening to kick me off of the team.  
  
"Yeah, sure. No, don't bother." I hold up a hand to stop him. "I'll go eat. It's late. I shouldn't be bothering you. I'm just going to grab a sandwich and go get some sleep before work tomorrow.  
  
He shrugs, surprising me. "I'll come with you. I'm not quite tired yet." He opens the door, escaping gratefully into the hallway. I watch him relax almost instantly. I guess being confined to small closed off spaces with me might do that to people.  
  
I'm going all unsteady again, the stairs a tad more difficult to maneuver this time. I almost stumble into Aya's back as my foot catches on the last step. He glares back at me, back into regular mode again.  
  
"Try not to be so clumsy."  
  
I actually smile. This seems more like sanity now. An angry intolerant Aya who doesn't give a damn if you're tired and numb and your ribs hurt, just so long as you don't accidentally bump into his sacred person.  
  
"Sit." He points to the table. I meekly slump over in a hard wooden chair, too drained to kick up much of a fuss. I guess I'll save my remaining coherent time trying to keep as many people as possible happy with me.  
  
I watch through a haze as he pulls deli meat out of the fridge and somehow manages to pile things onto toasted bread in my exact favorite combination. I blink, startled to say the least. I don't know if I even want to ask how he knew about my eating preferences.  
  
He sets the finished product down on front of me, the plate clunking against the wood table. He spins and pours me a glass of water. I consider dumping the water out and getting something alcoholic for myself before taking in Aya's expression and realizing that not only was he anticipating that reaction, he's fully prepared to keep me from following through.  
  
I take a cautious bite, unsure as to whether or not my stomach will accept more food so soon. Aya idly tears a small piece of sliced turkey away from the deli-wrapped pack. He watches me watching him. I turn back to my own food, wondering why I stopped eating to begin with. I didn't remember food tasting this wonderful.  
  
"Is it alright?" Aya asks me. For a moment I'm unsure as to what he's referring before I figure out he's asking about the sandwich. I nod and continue trying to keep myself from gobbling down the food in a manner that would only make me ill.  
  
We eat in silence, he only nibbling here and there. Before it was the cold and now it's the quite. I can't deal with all this silence. It roars in my ears, a tangible white noise, distracting me. I have nothing to say though. The old Aya is back, and it's not even worth the attempt to try and get through to Aya when he's in non-responsive mode.  
  
I somehow manage to finish the whole thing, though I regret it afterwards, feeling satiated and groggy. He doesn't stop me when I get up and rinse the plate off in the sink, leaving it to be cleaned in the morning.  
  
I rake the hair back from me face, stretching. My sides objects to the movement, but the protestations are halfhearted. I'm too full and tired to care much.  
  
"I think I'll be heading for bed now." I ineptly reply. There's no need to brush up on eloquent speeches at the moment. I doubt he's even listening. He rises and starts to put away the last of the sandwich fillings, meticulous and compulsive.  
  
He looks up. "And staying there?" He inquires with an arched eyebrow. Still suspicious. I don't blame him. With food in my stomach and the cobwebs cleared from my head, it's easier to see how deranged my actions must have seemed. Perhaps I do deserve his incredulity when it comes to my sincerity and sense of self-preservation.  
  
I shrug and flash him a quick fake grin, hoping that counts as an answer. I wonder if I could formulate a complete sentence if my life depended on it. I look to the stairway, think about walking up all those stairs, think about collapsing face down in the empty lifeless room and lying there until the sun rose or until I lost consciousness.  
  
If I attempt the climb and cannot make it then I'll never hear the end of it from Aya, further proof for him of my dysfunctional nature and body. Put off the inevitable then.  
  
"On second thought-I think I'll go watch a little television for a while. I'm tired but I don't feel like sleeping." I just barely manage to keep from stammering. I feel like a brain dead idiot. Then again, that's not unusual recently, is it?  
  
Guess who follows me and sits next to me on the couch. I refrain from commenting.  
  
"I don't want you sneaking out to some bar the second I turn my back." He clarifies with justifiable suspicion. Whether it's justifiable or not, it still angers me, his distrust. No one likes to know someone thinks him to be a bloody liar.  
  
Muttering under my breath, I grab up the remote and start randomly flipping through the channels, bound and determined to drive Aya insane. I eventually settle on some moronic game show where the contestants put on blindfolds and attempt to guess the name of objects based on their smell. I smirk as I watch Aya's disdainful expression.  
  
His mouth opens and closes a few times as he attempts to dredge up the proper words to fully criticize this travesty. Finally he just gives up and shuts his mouth, eyes narrowed down to furious slits. Haha, this is more fun then I'd thought it would be.  
  
I wrap my arms around my torso, huddling down on the couch. Here's where Aya gets a chance to berate me for having left the blanket upstairs, for being lazy and shirtless and cold.  
  
He shifts closer. Our sides press together, the heat reaching me even through his clothing. My muscles tense up against my will as I try to puzzle out his most recent startling reaction. What does he want? Why is he doing this?  
  
Next to me, his body slowly relaxes, some of his weight pressing back. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, bit by bit easing a bit of weight onto his frame, evening it out. When a few moments pass and nothing bad happens, I cautiously tilt my head to the side, resting it against his shoulder. No change still. My eyes slide shut.  
  
This is almost peaceful. As long as I pretend it's some faceless, soulless body next to me it's all right. I don't have to remind myself of my shortcomings, my failings, my utter helplessness in the face of everything that's been rushing towards me.  
  
My hand flies up to rub at my face, pushing against my close eyelids, trying to banish the raw ache there. I'm so tired. I just need some sleep. Some peace and dark and solitude.  
  
Without thinking I turn slightly and rub my cheek against his shoulder, getting comfortable. It only takes a few seconds for my actions to sink in before absolute mortification hits. I shouldn't have done that, not even as an unconscious gesture.  
  
I brace myself, waiting for some sort of recrimination, something new to rip me out of this bit of unexpected comfort. Instead I'm greeted with a low rumbling chuckle I can actually feel resonating through his flesh. I consider asking whether it's a laugh of scorn or vague amusement, but over the few minutes I take to ponder, my body steps in and decides that it would like to go the fuck to sleep, so I do.  
  
I wake from a soothing warm dream about lying on a beach in the hot, hot sun. I can hear the shower down the hallway, the hiss and patter of water breaking upon my drowsy, early-morning gathering of thoughts.  
  
I burrow my face back into my pillow, hiding from the light I can see through my eyelids. I'm exhausted. Fuck the sun. I want to close my eyes and go back to that beach, back to that respite from the harsh, garish colors of the waking world around me.  
  
I try to remember the night before, try to pin down how much I had to drink. I can't find a memory of anywhere but this house. We had a mission. I remember that. And-a flashback of being slammed into the wall-trying to roll away from the unseen sniper-star bright pain.  
  
What happened after that though? I should have gone out. I stretch, face still sinking into the sinfully soft pillow. Aya. He was angry at me, following me. I went outside. It was cold, numbing. My breath catches as the rest of the previous evening floods my mind. I fell asleep on Aya. I fell asleep on Aya on the damned couch.  
  
I bolt up, looking around me. What am I doing in my own room? I'm supposed to be curled up on the couch next to Aya, ready for the beating of my life. Did I stumble up to bed by myself? Did he leave me on the couch and have someone else come drag me upstairs?  
  
I look at my folded up clothes on a chair and my tidied room and determine that it was in fact Aya himself who was partially responsible for me being back in my own bed. Only he would think to fold up dirty clothes rather than simply tossing them on the floor for later.  
  
I shift my legs. Yes the jeans are gone. Wouldn't I remember falling down repeatedly while Aya clumsily tried to help me get out of my own pants? I shrug, looking down. Well I'll be damned. He tucked me into bed like a kid. I'm unsure whether or not to smile or to go down and kick his ass for taking the liberty. Though, I did fall asleep on him, which was pretty rude of me.  
  
Rubbing at my face I grimace as bruises reinstate their presences and lay the smack down, for lack of a better phrase. If I hurry I can get to the bathroom and call dibs on the shower. I never did get to take one yesterday. I wonder how badly I smell right now.  
  
For that matter, how big a stench was I putting off last night? How pleasant it would be if I wound up falling asleep on Aya reeking of sweat and blood and unwashed hair. I stumble to my feet and shamble towards the door. I have boxer shorts on, that's enough for just the house.  
  
I wind up playfully wrestling Omi for the next turn in the bathroom.  
  
"Look kid. You took a shower bright and early yesterday, and I didn't. I'm up at a decent time today; give me a break!" Of course, my superior height helps me win the tussle, though the fact that I'm immune to being tickled and Omi is certainly not helps as well.  
  
I make sure my towel is on the rack before clambering into the steaming water. Ah, now this is the life. Soaking the ache in my ribs away. There are no words to describe the magic that a simple shower can work on the human mind.  
  
I whisk condensed water away from the mirror surface, studying the marring on my face as I run a brush through my hair. There isn't any swelling now, just mottled patches of purple/blue discoleration. My sides look worse. The bruising is intense, angry looking, standing out horribly against my already prominent.  
  
I gently trace over the raised ridges of bone, testing how much pressure they can take. Not much at all. What a mess. What a bloody mess. My stomach growls, thinking it should receive the royal treatment from now on. One or two lousy little meals and all of a sudden my body is getting all uppity on me.  
  
Having forgotten any spare clothing, I simply wrap the damp towel around my waist, attempting to fluff up my hair as I go. I get an appreciative whistle from Ken as he eyes my (cough) battle wounds.  
  
"You really did get knocked around, didn't you?" He grins, making light of the whole episode, having slept through my sporadic attempt at self-destruction and the bouts of quarreling between Aya and I.  
  
Yeah. I got knocked around a bit. It's not too bad today. I barely feel any pain. I'm not numb though, just exhausted. Back to my good old self. Maybe I just needed something to shake me out of my blue funk.  
  
I shimmy into some clean clothes and tromp cheerfully down the stairs, whistling. The scent of frying bacon assails my nostrils. I can't control the grin that spreads across my face. It smells like a small slice of heaven all of a sudden.  
  
"Hey, I'm out of the bathroom now." I inform Omi as I peer over his shoulder at the makings of a delightful breakfast. "The food just for you? Or do you have enough to share?" I snag a wedge of toast while he's not looking, munching it on the sly.  
  
He turns around, eyes incredulous. "You're going to eat breakfast? While you're awake BEFORE noon? Who are you and what did you do with Youji?" He laughs, though he's not entirely kidding. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. I was starting to get really worried about you."  
  
I flap a hand carelessly, "No need to worry. I'm a big boy, capable of taking care of myself and leaping tall buildings in a single bound." I grin and take another piece of toast. Not the best food in the world, but there's more to come. Life looks like a great thing all of a sudden.  
  
I don't work in the shop until the afternoon shift, which I share with Aya this time. He retreats back into storage, doing some inventory while I flit with the newly arrived hordes of fangirls and attempt to make them buy things rather than window shop.  
  
In all honesty though, his absence is much appreciate. What the hell am I supposed to say to him? "Thanks for not letting me kill myself." "Thanks for not breaking my neck when I fell asleep on the couch with you." I'm certainly not going to get any help there from Aya. He's not the articulate one, that's left up to me.   
  
If I don't say anything will the whole thing breeze over as if it's never even happened? Do I want it to? It was sort of nice to feel like it wasn't just me against the world for a little while. Aya and I have known each other for years, and considering we share a house and no less than two jobs at the same time, things are always a little easier when we two get along.  
  
When he comes out to help man the registers I try to start up a conversation, typical Youji style, of course. I don't know whether to be relieved or angry when he pointedly ignores me and even goes as far as to glare at me when I keep on trying.  
  
It takes a little while but I finally get the not-so-subtle message. Apparently the fact that he was attempting to treat me like a fellow human being last night doesn't change anything in the long run. I'm still scum under his feet when it comes right down to it. I can deal.  
  
Not to many people take me seriously to begin with; it's nothing new to me. I don't act in a professional manner, and I sure as hell don't possess a single serious bone in my entire body. I don't deserve scorn though. Just because I don't have a stick up my ass like SOME people I know...  
  
Ken seems concerned when he comes to take Aya's place an hour later, concerned with my muted attitude.  
  
"I thought you were doing better. Omi said you had breakfast today." He comments casually.  
  
"You guys keeping tabs on me then?" The question isn't meant to sound defensive, a hint of joking. We all know that Omi is the worrier and gets everyone else in on it when he's unsure of the health of any of his teammates. Maybe he's the one who talked Aya into acting like a person last night. Omi would know well enough that a psuedo-compassionate Aya would be enough to shock even me out of whatever had hold of my state of mind.  
  
"Hey, you went I don't know how many weeks without eating or getting proper sleep; you had us all worried." Ken turns solemn brown eyes my way. "Aya spent every minute you weren't around ranting about how mad he was at you, which is his way of expressing anxiety." He laughs.  
  
Aya was concerned about me? So that wasn't an act? This is starting to irk me. I'm not good when it comes to unfamiliar territory. This is all out of my league. I don't think an entire fleet of certified psychiatrists could diagnose what's wrong with Weiss's redhead, let alone even begin to give him a chance to behave normally, so what chance do I have.  
  
"On another note, what were you doing up so early today? Omi was suggesting that perhaps aliens really had come down and replaced you with a more socially acceptable version of your past self." He mock punches me in the arm before breaking away to take an order for an upcoming wedding.  
  
"I haven't given up smoking!" I chipperly call after him, as if that somehow makes it all better. Of course, the pack of cigarettes I drove down to the store for this morning also helps to account for my more tranquil mood. When nicotine cravings aren't taking over your mind, it's a lot easier to think and cope.  
  
He ruefully shakes his head. "That's not something to be proud of Kudou. Honestly, it's good that you're doing much better, but the cancerous lungs you're working on sort of downplay the whole moment of redemption."  
  
"I thought it was up to Omi to worry about things like that." It's up to Omi to worry, and Aya to berate. That's how they cope with things that annoy them or upset them. Ken though, he doesn't seem to have a set patter of actions. Maybe that's why I get along with him so well. I don't like unpredictable situations, but as far as I'm concerned, variability is an admirable trait in a person.  
  
He shrugs and finishes up with the middle-aged customer, pausing to chat with a few bouncy young girls hanging around the front of the shop. I consider stepping up to do the same, slipping back into the familiar games of word playing. A sudden realization shocks me. I'm simply not interested in flirting with them. Not interested in pretending I have any attraction to some jailbait schoolgirl. Actually haven't for some time now. Maybe an alien HAS replaced me. Since when is Youji Kudou not up to flirting with anything in a skirt?  
  
I spend the rest of my double shift waiting for a chance to be alone and think. What's wrong with me? Honestly, there's nothing wrong with being superficial, so why is it troubling me now? Ah, here comes the little blond kid now, right on time. I throw my apron onto its hook and ruffle Omi's hair as I walk past.  
  
"Have fun." I grin. Finally, some time to myself. That's all I need. Space and time on my own to sort out my thoughts. I didn't manage to off myself this go round, probably won't for some time now. Time for me to get ready to take control of my life once more.  
  
I grab my long jacket and my car keys. I'm about to break into a cheerful bout of whistling as I practically skip down to the garage before I hear another engine starting up. I immediately go into 'assassin' mode, walking lightly and quickly, avoiding any sounds from my boots on the cement.  
  
I show up in time to see Aya's car pull out of the garage, his face distant and unfocused. Now where is he off to? Oh well, I didn't really want to go into the self-examination. I might as well just spy on my teammate.  
  
I jump into my own vehicles and covertly tail him, knowing by the few seconds I saw of his expression that he's gone all inverted and isn't paying much attention to his outside surroundings. And he accuses me of having a death wish.  
  
I don't follow very closely and he doesn't seem to spot me. I start to wonder where we're going when we hit a major highway. I wait until I'm pretty sure the road keeps going in one straight line before stopping for some gas and continuing on. This could be interesting. I wonder what our 'leader' is up to.  
  
After the first fifteen minutes of driving I'm starting to get a tad bored. What if he's just out for a drive in the country, trying to get away and think like I was planning on doing myself? We enter new city limits. It's a vaguely familiar looking place, I'm sure I've driven through it once or twice on my way somewhere. Just another suburban paradise for stupid yuppies.  
  
Aya finally stops at the main hospital. My mind is whirring with concerns and musings. Did he get hurt last night and not say anything, playing the hypocritical martyr? Is he just picking up medical supplies? Is something wrong with him?  
  
I park far enough away that I won't attract attention, but close enough that I can catch up with him and keep out of sight. He walks across the asphalt parking lot with purposeful strides, entering the tall solid building with a air of familiarity. He comes here often then? Is there something chronically wrong with him that he hasn't told us about? That two-faced lying son of a bitch!  
  
I watch the elevator gauge at the top as I wait for it to stop. He was the only one in the elevator, and it stops once, on the twelfth floor. I steel myself and call the elevator back. I have to know what's going on. Aya will most likely break every bone in my body later today, but I have to know. I should just walk away, but damn my insatiable curiosity.  
  
The elevator makes that damned 'bing' noise as it stops and opens to let me out on floor level twelve. I grit my teeth, sure that everyone in the whole building hears the sound. My eyes dart around, immediately spotting the back of his crimson head. He doesn't turn, merely speaks with the woman at the reception desk before silently stalking down a corridor.  
  
Hesitating, my conscience wars with my desire to solve this puzzle. I take a deep breath and head after him, slowly, to give him time to get ahead to where he's going. To either side I see just plain old hospital rooms. No surgery rooms, or doctor's offices.  
  
Aya turns to the side into the doorway of one of the patient's rooms. Is he visiting someone?? He doesn't have any friends, does he? How could he without us knowing it? He's always around, never dates, never parties and certainly never goes to visit people.  
  
Creeping closer to the doorway, I peer in. He's drawn up next to a bed, hunching down to be nearer to a motionless girl. She could be one of the fangirls from the shop for all I know, though I doubt that for many obvious reasons. Throwing caution to the wind I silently slip into the room, hovering near the outreaches.  
  
I feel like an interloper, intruding on something private and absolutely none of my business. Come to think of it, that's never stopped me before, has it?? He's whispering.  
  
"What am I supposed to do?" His hands clasp one of her still ones. She doesn't move. Is she that deeply asleep? In a coma perhaps? "Why do these things happen?"  
  
He sounds so tired, so defeated. He lowers his forehead to rest it against the wan hand he holds between his own.  
  
"Aya?" Without thinking, I place a hand on his shoulder, thinking to repay the favor from last night, cheer him up a little. The look in his eyes as his head snaps up and around makes me realize how stupid my action was.  
  
It's a rough, raw mixture of horror, fury and fading dejection. He gently places the hand back by her side, his face closing up the whole while, before standing up again. He brushes fingertips across dark hair.  
  
"You. Parking lot. Now." The words are spit out with a forcefulness that has me more than worried. Now he's going to kill me. I shouldn't have done that. I should have left him alone. It's none of my business. He made it pretty clear that he was just being polite last night, that there would be no lessening of our personality clashes any time soon.  
  
"Fujimiya-san, did you enjoy your visit with Aya?" The woman at the front desk calls as we march past. My mind has trouble getting around that one. Fujimiya-san, that's Aya. So, how could he be seeing himself in the hospital? Is the woman confused? Am I confused?  
  
As soon as the elevator doors close behind us, he slams me up against the wall, face twisted with rage, bare inches from mine. "What gives you the right? What gives you the right to spy on me? What gives you the right to pry into my life!?" He slams me back again, physically restraining himself from doing worse.  
  
"I didn't think, I mean-" All words flee my mind at the rage on his face. It's hard to be articulate when death is looking you in the face.  
  
"That's right. You never think." He hisses at me. The elevator doors open on the ground floor and he drags me by the coat collar past a startled couple. My foot catches and I almost stumble over the step down from the non-wheelchair accessible exit. Apparently this doesn't concern Aya, and I'm partially yanked along until I can regain my footing.  
  
We head around the back, far away from anyone who'd hear me if I made a sound before he killed me. I don't protest. My back connects with the brick wall a second before my head.  
  
Aya doesn't climb up into my air space, hollering at me. He stands back, this unreadable look in his eyes. "You never learn, do you?"  
  
"If you're going to kill me anyway, can I at least get a clarification?" I throw in one of those helpless little grins that so infuriates him, despite my personal concern.  
  
"I won't kill you if you never speak about this again, if you just forget about it all." He looks too serious again, too old for his age. I've never seen such a grave expression on any human being in my life.  
  
"She said you were visiting Aya. What did she mean? You're Aya." I slump down against the wall now that the immediate danger has passed, still pushing things to the limit.  
  
"It doesn't matter. What did I tell you?" His eyes are hard, his entire countenance bespeaking a mixture of violent and hateful reactions inside his head. "As far as I'm concerned, all you have to do is say that none of this happened, and it's all forgiven and forgotten."  
  
That's quite a benevolent thing for Aya to do. He doesn't do either of those two things easily, forgiving OR forgetting. I'd much rather know what it is he's hiding though.  
  
"It's not important!" His voice raises up to decibels I've never heard it reach before, frustration with a dash of anger, fear and apprehension. I've never seen him like this before. This is certainly a potentially hazardous situation for me; for all that he seems uninclined towards actually killing me.  
  
"Why is it anything and everything about MY personal life and behavioral patterns are fair game, but you don't ever have to reveal anything or do or say anything you don't feel like?" I straighten up once more.  
  
"It doesn't matter. All I have to say is, if you ever mention this to anyone ever, you're not just as good as dead, it'll be a fact." He threateningly fists the front of my shirt, twisting the expensive knit fabric.  
  
"You can't kill me. Weiss needs me." I stick my chin up, baring my neck, just daring him. Not a good idea, but a chance I'm pretty sure won't break me this time. "If you don't give me even a hint of an explanation then I won't feel obliged to keep all of this to myself."  
  
His fist raises for a second and I'm sure he's going to call my bluff before the arm lowers and he slams me back against the wall, turning away from me. "Her name is Aya, I'm just borrowing it. She's someone very important to me. She may never wake up." He turns back, eyes flat. "That's all there is. I don't have to tell you again that I'd willingly kill you if you endanger her."  
  
My jaw drops as he stomps off. He deferred to me during this battle? Why? He could have just stomped off anyway. I talk a good game, but I'm more into privacy and respecting it than most people like to think. I watch in shock as he reenters the hospital.  
  
Who is she then? A girlfriend? A relative? A mysterious love? Is she why he won't ever waste his time on anyone or anything else? I tread heavily over the asphalt back towards my own car, more confused than when this all started up.  
  
Aya's not there when I get home several hours later, a definite problem. Omi tells me that he's already gotten us set up and booked for another job tonight. NO assassinations tonight, rather an infiltration into dangerous territory. If Aya isn't here we're going to have to rearrange all our plans. Omi's been trying to reach his cell phone for hours.  
  
"Youji, he's not going to show. If we want to make it in time we have to leave now." Omi tugs on my sleeve, trying to recapture my wandering attention. "You're going to have to be our decoy, our forerunner. Aya isn't here to do it, and I'm needed for the computer hacking, and Ken isn't as quite as either you or Aya."  
  
I grimace and rake a hand through my hair, tying it back. "I don't know if this is such a good idea. Why can't we cancel? This is some of the worst shit we're about to face, and with one of us missing, it's that much harder. If we piss off these guys and they catch us at it, we're in some serious shit."  
  
"We're talking about two of the most influential powers in this country. If you fuck with either one then you've got the whole world after you." Ken explains wearily. "There isn't the option of backing down in this case. We're just going to have to make do."  
  
Sighing, I heave myself to my feet. This should be fun. Short a member for one of the most dangerous assignments we've been on since loosing our old management, and walking in virtually blind. The information was actually so heavily protected that even Omi couldn't get to it. All we have is a blueprint of the building and general layouts of important locations.  
  
I pause to smoke as much of a cigarette as I can get in before I absolutely have to get in the car, Ken playing chauffer once again. I flick the half smoked cigarette out the window and lean back into the car seat's leather embrace.  
  
We cruise through the night, the only living creatures on the go at this hour, unseen and unexpected. The car is parked a few blocks away from our final destination; Ken even puts money in the meter, conscientious person that he is. Does he honestly think there are meter readers out and about in the middle of the night, going around checking cars with a flashlight?  
  
There is a smattering of lights on in the towering office building, overworked employees perhaps. We each head for our respective entrances, prepared to make our efforts count. Damn Aya for being the secretive temperamental son of a bitch that he is!  
  
I carefully slice the wires of the alarm, picking the lock and letting myself into the massive office building through the janitorial entrance. I pry open the elevator doors and climb up the cable, stopping and using the jack to recreate an entrance for myself when I reach the top floor.  
  
Mine is the most dangerous part of our plan of attack. I'm trapped up here on the very top, charged with providing the distraction by any means necessary. It's mostly going to be me breaking things, setting off alarms and killing people like mad; hoping the whole while through that I manage to survive. I don't know how Aya does it.  
  
I perch on top of a hallway radiator and wait for the signal from my cohorts.  
  
"In position." I hear Ken's voice. Another five minutes pass.  
  
"All ready then?" Omi inquires softly.  
  
"All ready." I confirm into my wrist unit. I swing down, feeling lanky and graceful all of a sudden, and grateful for the boost, knowing I'll certainly need it! I spot the nearby fire alarm and break the glass, carefully removing the axe before swinging it full strength into the alarm beside the case. The alarm is instant and deafening.  
  
Within minutes I hear heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs, can hear the whirr of the approaching elevator. Here we go, the moment of truth where I prove to myself yet again why it is that Aya usually does this, and not me. I heft the axe. Much more effective in close quarters.  
  
There are only about seven. All armed, but still only seven. No match for me and my trusty "fire axe". They don't see me, hiding in the shadows as I am. Even though my pale hair is usually a give away, luck is with me. The next few minutes pass as a gory bloody massacre.  
  
They aren't well trained at all; for all that they have unifying clothing and weapons. Not a fleet then. Most of them freeze in shock when the wide blade sinks into their torso, before slumping against the wall and either loosing consciousness or just slowly bleeding to death. This is simple. Much too simple.  
  
I'm not surprised at all when the real pros show up. This is good. It means Ken and Omi have a clear shot. The more after me the better. The quarters are too close for them to pull out their guns. It all boils down to desperate hand-to-hand combat.  
  
They've all got height and weight on me, but I've got raw talent and drilled in skill to work in my favor. They get smart quickly and work on keeping me surrounded and off balance. I told you they were professionals.  
  
A foot hits me in the back even as I manage to sink the axe into the face of another identity less opponent. The weapon is wrenched out of my hands as I hit the wall. I whirl, looking around the dark hallway for my one defense against my enemy. Shit! I can't see where it went.  
  
I just manage to roll out of the way of a speeding fist, kicking off the wall and landing on my feet in a defensive crouch. I quickly go into a frenzy of kicks and punches, tying to stave off the quickly growing numbers. I am Screwed, with a capital 'S'. How does Aya manage?  
  
"Come in. All units come in. I'm finished. Time to move out." Omi's voice shrills in my ear, almost causing me to break my stride. Ken's voice responds with a similar reply.  
  
Around me the air is silent but for the sounds of flesh against flesh and harsh angry breaths. I'm going to die. I realize that with a sudden aching snap of realization. There are too many of them, I can't stop to call for help. I don't have a weapon and I'm getting the shit knocked out of me.  
  
With a last desperate hope I hurl myself towards the still open elevator doors, thinking hope against hope that there's a chance I can still get inside the box itself and get the doors closed. Please let this work.  
  
I reach the elevator all right, but they pull me back long before I can even hit a single button. The rest of my savage beating is mercifully drowned out by static in my head. I never fully lose consciousness and must remain awake and semi-coherent.  
  
It's that final blow to the head that has me finally unconscious. Gee, I thought this was the point where my comrades were supposed to rush to my rescue. My mind blanks and I sink into the painless darkness, knowing I may very well never open my eyes again.  
**************  
Haha! I fooooooooooooled you! There you were thinking this would quickly turn into some sort of juicy lemon! Well, mwah on you! This is an attempt at quasi-realistic characterization, and most real people don't just up and boink like bunnies at the drop of a hat because some fanfiction writing dope wants them to. You'll get your lemons though, just stick around. akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com Concerns? Questions? Lemmee know, I don't bite!! Hard! Heehee ^_^ 


	4. Chapter Four

-END of First Cliffhanger. Perhaps. I do dearly love my suspense!  
**************  
When I first drift back to the land of the conscious, the only thing I'm aware of is the cold. Why do I always wind up this way? I don't ASK to be freezing for fifty percent or more of my days and nights.  
  
Groaning, I reach down to pull up apparently non-existent bedcovers. Every muscle in my body screams in protest and then some. I try to remember why I'm in such pain, but am unable to. My ribs? Weren't they getting better though? Aya fixed them somehow.  
  
"Uhn. Kill me please." I mumble, reaching for my sheets again. My hand grasps thin air, slicks across blood on my bare chest. My eyes snap open. It's still like peering through ink. Am I blind, or is it dark?  
  
Memories of the fight hit me with all they've got. In an absolute panic I try to jump to my feet. Sudden vertigo slams down, fireworks and a full orchestra striking up in my brain. I'm down and out as soon as I'm up.  
  
I regain consciousness to a jarring backhand across my face. I cough for a little while for the pain in my ribs. A large hand grabs my forearm and hurls me at a wall before I can try to organize my surroundings. I hit shoulder first, gasping, but more aware. I crouch low and try to regain my orientation.  
  
The lighting is dim, but better than the nothing of before. I can make out my attacker's features. Heavy brooding bones, large heavy body. He certainly looks angry with me. I wonder what I've done to him offend him so personally.  
  
He's moving before my eyes even register the movement. His hands crush my throat as his body presses me helplessly to the wall. I growl and thrash, pinned.  
  
"Who is your employer?" The words are harsh and demanding. Stereotypical physical interrogation tactics: beat 'em and question 'em at the same time and hope for a sudden onrush of verbal diarrhea.  
  
"Don't work for anyone." I gasp out, dizzied.  
  
"Where did your accomplices escape to? Who sent you to steal that information?" His hands tighten when I don't answer.  
  
Things progress thusly for I don't know how the hell long. When I find myself coughing up blood and unable to stop, he ends the session and leaves. He takes the lights with him.  
  
I curl up on the floor, ignoring the bolted cot I think I spotted while I was still capable of coherent thoughts. If I thought I'd felt awful a day or two before...  
  
I close my eyes, pressing my forehead to the cement flooring, hoping to cool the fire behind my eyes. I wonder how many of my bones he's broken, if he's broken any at all. It's so very cold. My bare side rests against the numbing ground as well. I wonder who took my shirt and why. At least they left me my pants.  
  
I'm not exactly Mr. Dignity, but I have this baseless fear of being caught in a bad situation with my pants around my ankles, or across the room. I think it's something most males have in common. It's just too susceptible and exposed a condition to be in when danger strikes.  
  
I curl up tighter and focus on breathing slowly and evenly, trying to distract my mind. Sleep and unconsciousness have both abandoned me for the time being, I guess.  
  
I only have to wait a few agonizingly long hours before footsteps approach my cell again. Thud. Thud. Many steps, the clanking of metal hitting metal, even with the steps. They're armed then, whoever they may be.  
  
The light comes from behind me, from the one door in the room. I scrunch my eyes shut and try to keep calm. There's nothing they can do to me. They can only cause me pain, and pain can be dealt with. They can only kill me, and after death, what is there to fear? Nothing but rest.  
  
"You ready to talk now, Meat?" Rough hands yank me upright, ingnoring my sharp gasps of pain. My eyes dart around, seven of them, all armed, three guns trained on me. I can barely stand on my own; do they honestly think I have any way of escaping?  
  
I summon my old insolent smirk and leer up at the man I perceive as being in charge. "Well, this is a pleasant little situation. I know you, don't I? You were that guy caught picking up little boys on street corners. You like 'em young, eh?" I sneer at him, purposefully baiting him, striking a common area that usually sets self-important bullies off into fits of rage.  
  
I don't have time to brace myself for the sharp blow to my stomach. Without waiting for me to catch my breath, they drag me down the glaringly bright hallway. What new joyful experience lies ahead of me now?  
  
I don't like the look of the new room. It's obviously nothing more than a well-stocked torture chamber. No, I don't like the look of this at all. In fact I think I'm going to regret any time I spend in this room.  
  
I stare wide eyed at the chains and bolts coming from the walls, expecting this to quickly degenerate into any avid bondage freak's ultimate fantasy. Instead I'm lead/pulled over to the farthest away corner. There's a deep pool of water in one corner, the floor gradually slopping down deeper and deeper.  
  
The whitewashed, Spartan walls contrast sharply with the wide array of pain-causing implements. Frighteningly so. The room looks like something imagined from the deepest most twisted depths of someone's soul, the purity contrasting so sharply with the gleaming metal. I personally always thought torture chambers should have good damp and dank stonewalls.  
  
I sway back and forth, barely capable of keeping upright on my own, waiting for whatever comes next, reminding myself time and time again that pain means nothing, it is only a sensation.  
  
"So you were the one brave enough, or stupid enough, to play bait?" The words come from behind me. They're dry, a hint of cynicism in them, vaguely amused in a detached and uncaring way. They chill me to the bone. The monotone, almost robotic cadence to phrase frightens me for many reasons, none of which I can pin down. Aya talks like that most of the time and even he doesn't disturb me like this.  
  
I twist my neck as far as it will go; a fraction of it's usual limbered up range. I can't see him until he walks around to my front. Tall, dark haired, like the majority of the population in this country. His face is smooth and lineless. He looks artificial, overdone and yet still lacking details. I get the feeling that if he ever formed an expression with his face it would shatter to a million pieces.  
  
He smiles, the skin stretching waves and bunching. I blanch.  
  
"You have two options. You can either answer our questions, or you can remain silent and amuse me with your suffering." The smile doesn't reach his eyes, flat polished pebbles.  
  
He brushes his knuckles across my cheekbone, smiling emotionlessly at my face. "Which will it be?"  
  
"I don't know anything." The words lack the conviction I'd planned on putting behind them. If I weren't trying to delude myself so much, I might even admit to hearing a tremor as well.  
  
"I'm assuming you're lying to me," He tsks, "A horrible thing to do to one who has been so merciful."  
  
I snort and refrain from commenting. I've told them where I stand. Now I remain silent and let the fun begin.  
  
He waves a manilla folder in front of my face. "I've been looking through your basic files. From those good old days when you were a detective." He smiles. "A simple fingerprint search found your identity at a faster speed than you could ever imagine Kudou-san, though all sources insisted on informing me you were quite dead. Perhaps we can remedy that at a later date." I consider startling them all by tearing loose and ripping up the folder in front of their eyes, just to see the looks on their faces.   
  
He flips through the printed sheets of statistics and who the hell knows what else. He reaches a page which seems to delight him, that fake smile enlarging. He holds the page in front of me. "You went through a series of psychological tests, I do believe. A long while ago, much of the information no longer applies, but our experts, myself included, did spot something that made us more than a little happy. You have a phobia. Not just any simple phobia. You fear water; you fear being immersed in water and being unable to breath." He gestures magnanimously towards the pool of water to my left. "In essence, drowning."  
  
I swallow and close my eyes for the bare seconds it takes to get my expression back under control. I start repeating my safe-phrase to myself again. They can only hurt me, there is nothing too horrible they can do to me. The worst that can happen is my death, and after that there is nothing but peace. I open my eyes and meet his, managing the biggest smile I can, a gesture of bravery I'll die admiring.  
  
He flicks his hands towards the water, vacant smile in place. He seems a bit less falsely cheerful about my lack of devastated, futile railing. I struggle as I'm bodily dragged into the water, gasping out in shock at its coldness. My two human-crutches/guards calmly plod into the water with me, expressions speaking of how ho-hum and uneventful this day is shaping up to be.  
  
"Well then, let us get started, shall we?" Stone-face claps his hands, standing near the edge, but not close enough to risk getting splashed. Would he melt? I wonder to distract myself. "For who's benefit were you involved in a plan to deprive us of some much-needed information?"  
  
"Fuck you." I state flatly, knowing it's just better to get it all over with. I prepare myself.  
  
The water is colder around me than I thought it would be as they hold me down, I try to hold what little breath I managed to inhale while I put up the unavoidable struggle to clamber back to the surface. I thrash, water hindering my motions and making them ineffective. I try to keep from breathing in, unable to even pinch my nose shut or cover my mouth, my arms pinioned to my sides.  
  
They haul me back up, the air even icier on my face. My teeth chatter as I glare around me in general, still holding onto my fears fairly well. They say time will heal all hurts and remedy all mental lapses, but I don't know how long I can stick to that theory.  
  
"Next question then, shall we Kudou-san? Name your accomplices."  
  
"Next response then: Fuck you again." I try to suck in a full breath and silence the frenzied jabbering voice in the back of my mind.  
  
The man hurls me at a wall. Just some faceless guard with a temper. His companions laugh as I hit the floor and curl up shivering, coughing fit to choke. Oh fuck, I'm so cold. I can't breath, my lugs ache; my eyes burn.  
  
I wait for them to leave, but they hover in the doorway, conversing among themselves. I realize what's probably going to happen next when a large form lumbers towards me, twisting my arm up behind my back, doubling me over.  
  
"Well, we've wasted a lot of time dragging you around. I think a little compensation is in order." He roughly grips my jaw, forcing me to face the general area where his shadowed eyes no doubt are.  
  
I shut my eyes again and do my best to black out the next few hours. When then finally leave me again, after pulling my remaining clothes back into some torn semblance of order, I force myself to crawl over to the cot, body screaming out in protest, muscles that I never knew existed crying out for relief, bruises forming in places I'd never even thought bruises capable of dwelling.  
  
My head hits the pillow but sleep never comes for me. I close my sandpaper eyelids and take slow shallow breaths until the urge to cry passes. I don't cry. It's against my nature. I won't let them cow me. It's just pain, pain and drowning. I can cope with that; I have to.  
  
Time passes, I drift in and out of consciousness. No one comes for me, my hair and clothing dry, but I can't stop shaking. It hurts to breath. The coughs that wrack me are almost unbearable, tearing at the very fiber of my being.  
  
I wait to die, but I just keep sinking to new layers of despair and agony. No one who could help me knows where I am. I doubt anyone would take the time to come after me. The only thing to do is further distance myself. Pain is only a sensation. Fear is only soul deep.  
  
Aya would make that decision after he returned to home. At least this way he won't have to worry about me talking about the girl. The girl with his name. No, I have that backwards. He was borrowing her name. Does that mean he has a different given name. I can't see him as anything but the 'Aya' I've always known him as.  
  
The door opens. I'm dragged off for another session with the drowning pool; my mind just goes elsewhere partway through, unable to put up with anymore. What remains is pitiful and spiritless, believing it deserves all it receives.  
  
When the terror of dying doesn't shift my will any, they go for good old fashioned pain. They start out small, simply passing me around: beating and raping, moving on to more violent and destructive methods.  
  
At the end of a grueling seven hours, their watches were conveniently keeping the coherent part of my brain aware of the time, I'm hauled back to the cell again, too exhausted and agonized to look for a way out, to fight back on the trip there. Thrown over someone's shoulder like a corpse or, to be less gruesome, a sack of flour.  
  
I try to lie on my stomach on the floor. Incapable of simple motion. My back is a mass of raw stripes of skin alternating with tears revealing muscle and tissue. I lie shaking in the dark, wondering if everyone is all right, how much more I'm going to hurt before this is all over.  
  
I don't know how much time passes. More than a few days, I'm sure of that, but there is no variation to the routine. They persist out of sheer stubborn and sadistic pride now. No one asks me any questions, and even if I offered to answer anything they wanted, screamed the information at them, it wouldn't stop.  
  
Then it does without even an explanation. The usual few hours go by with the usual anticipatory fits of terror and pain, but no one comes for me. All is silent, alternately hot and cold. I have a fever, a bad one. I wonder how long until I die.  
  
I changed my mind earlier. I don't really want to die anymore. I guess fate has it in for me though. No such luck. I had so much I still wanted to find out, wanted to learn. I had so many mysteries to get to the bottom of. Plenty of untasted hard liquor.  
  
Stone-face finally comes to pay me a visit. He turns the lights on all the way, turning this room into the center of a miniature sun. He needs the light, I think. To keep him going. I often try to puzzle him out during my fits of delirious rest. He feeds off the light, I reason, and that's why it follows him, why it hurts to look at him.  
  
"Your companions have abandoned you. We found them through your records, and through a survivor's account. They sold you out." He smiles, and this time it shines out through his eyes, light without source. If I weren't so tired I'd almost be afraid. He's so wrong, unnatural to any world I've ever been in.  
  
I stare at him lifelessly through a curtain of hair. It hurts to breath. I don't want this pain anymore. I don't want to be cold. I process his words slowly and methodically. He's resorted to lying.  
  
"I thought you didn't believe in lying." My voice cracks throughout the simple sentence and it sends me into a new bout of hoarse coughing.  
  
He cups something in his palm, holding it out for me to see. Aya's earring. My mind shuts down.  
  
"Your red headed companion told me to show you this, to make sure you knew they'd all given up on you. You weren't worth the effort to them." He throws the gold bar to the floor.   
  
"We offered them a settlement for the location of the disk, understanding that they were only following instructions. We gave them a smaller settlement to keep possession of you. They seemed quite glad to be rid of you. The blond child, obviously some sort of foreigner with a borrowed surname, he seemed amused by the whole affair. What was his name? Tsykioni? Something along those lines."  
  
"Tsukiyono." I correct without thinking. My eyes direct themselves towards the earring without any conscious decision on my part. It's his all right. I'd recognize it anywhere after all those years, seeing it day in, day out. I let my eyelids slide down, hiding in darkness.  
  
"You know, they foisted you off on us for less than they revealed the location of the stolen information." He sounds almost gleeful, manic, the robot tones are gone. They don't frighten me anymore. I have nothing to fear.  
  
They didn't want me. I wasn't important enough to them. They sold me out, accepted money. Left me here to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to hurt. Everything hurts. I start to think about the cold, horrible water. Next time, I'll breath in. They won't know I'm dead until it's too late.  
  
"We haven't gone to verify that the information went to who they say it did yet. You may still even have a bit of use in you. If the answers they gave us were incorrect then they will run for it. You can help us find them." He claps his hands like a child before ungently patting me on the shoulder. I gasp in pain, causing him just a little more delight in a day already overflowing with the emotion.  
  
He gets up and leaves. I lie there, my muscles to tight they make my eyes water, strung out from endless shivering. My eyes burn from the angle with which I need to strain them so I can continue to look at the earring in it's small pool of light.   
  
On impulse I lean over the side of the cot, fumbling in the pitch black for the gleaming bar of metal. The actions aren't as simple as they seem. By the time I'm lying still again I'm unable to contain the harsh sobs of pain escaping from my throat.  
  
I twist with agonizing slowness and collapse on my side, trying to protect my back even now. I cup the freezing metal in my palm, knowing I'll never warm the jewelry, my skin being the same temperature as the air, the floor, colder even. I close my eyes as the pain tears turn into real ones of grief and sorrow.  
  
I try to cover my eyes out of habit, not caring that no one is around to see me. I drop the earring to the mattress next to me, pained too much by the thought of them all, Ken, Omi, and especially Aya giving me the brush off. I recognize the empty feelings of hopelessness now. I don't want to die. Why is this happening?  
**************  
CLIIIIIFFFHHAAAANNNGGEEERRRR!!! Woot Woot! I'm so evil, sometimes I just want to hug myself! darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com or akainobaka@mchsi.com ! Either one is fine. Drop me a line! Woot Woot! Sorry for the updating delays! People keep quitting and getting fired at my work, and money hungry little me winds up stepping up to the plate and taking over as many of their hours as possible! Be patient children! 


	5. Chapter Five

Just beat Final Fantasy X. All I can think about is getting to play the sequel to Kingdom Hearts that will supposedly be coming out soon. DAMN you Squaresoft!!!!!!  
**************  
Things return to usual. The familiarity is almost nice, the semi-regular schedule soothing in some ways. They show up, beat me, rape me, burn me, drown me, whip me; you know the routine. Then they leave for a set amount of hours for me to recover. Then they return and it begins again.  
  
Breathing is usually the biggest effort I can make. They move me where they need me, they don't ask me anything, don't give me an option to stop the pain. I feel helpless, knowing that this is my new existence and I am powerless to end it, to even tolerate it.  
  
My mind has separated itself, the core just safely tucked away. What remains is a blank, base being, completely bent towards stoic bearing of life, towards taking the pain and tolerating it. The remaining entity in me craves the pain, suffering in silence and playing the mourning martyr.  
  
They leave me in handcuffs now. Lying on my back, because it makes them laugh when I can't keep the cries inside. My raw back bleeds, oozes. It's infected I think. A great deal of the wounds inflicted on me aren't healing correctly. It's making me physically ill. I'm still looking forward to the release of death. Nothing else to hope for.  
  
The door is opening. It's early! This is wrong. Not supposed to happen. There is an established system. I turn my face into the arm stretched up and bolted to the headboard of the cot, trying to stifle the exhausted sobs for breath, for pain. This isn't supposed to happen. They don't show up for a few more hours. This is wrong.  
  
"You're not supposed to be here." I whisper hoarsely, trying to hold onto even a semblance of normality, trying to will everything away. Nothing remains as it should. It's not supposed to be like this, counting only on myself again. Why did they have to go and change the schedule? Something has to stay the same.  
  
Footsteps shuffle to my side, stopping by my head. I squeeze my eyes as tightly shut as they can be, anticipating the starting blow. Careful fingers undo the handcuffs, both of them. Knowing the routine, I hold my hands out side by side, trying to still the pained shaking, waiting for the cuffs to go back on.  
  
"I don't want to put them back on you, moron." The voice sounds achingly familiar. I force my eyes open, making out the old remembered figure in the twilight.  
  
"Aya?" I try to sit up, winding up doubled over in agony instead, my back burning, my sides a seething white-hot mass of pain. Hesitant hands rest on my shoulders, either not seeing the damage to my flesh in the darkness, or simply not caring.  
  
"Uhn!" I twist away, bringing down more suffering upon myself. He crouches down next to me on the filthy bloody bedding, not touching, just watching. "I sure hope you made this all fucking worthwhile. You get enough money to keep you in katanas for a long while?" I snap at him bitterly, the old Youji attitude snapping up to defend me on this new front.  
  
"What money?" He seems confused. I watch dispassionetly as he uneasily tugs at his now bare earlobe. It looks so odd, unbalanced without the familiar bar of gold.  
  
"You sold me out. Does that make you feel better?" I try to shift away from him, unable to move on my own. The pain tears still streak down my face, the sobbing gone though, replaced with self-righteous anger. "I know you never liked me to begin with, but isn't this a little extreme even for you? Did they let you in so you could gloat?"  
  
I gesture towards myself with great difficulty. "Well, here I am, feast your eyes for as long as you need. You hurt me more than they ever could, all of you." My voice breaks again with the admittance. I look down, waiting for him to lose his temper and take it out on me.  
  
I can't help but flinch back as gentle cool fingers cup my face, violet eyes studying the bruise patterning in the low visibility gloom. I can't meet his eyes, can't let him see that he's won. I take deep shuddering breaths, trying to control myself. He broke the schedule; upset me. I can deal with it. I start to shut down the vital functions of my mind.  
  
He pulls me into a careful embrace, pressing my face not ungently to his neck. I struggle, crying out in pain as every inch of my body screams for it to stop. He panics, letting go, apologizing profusely, an odd light in his eyes, hands hovering as if unsure whether or not to touch me again.  
  
"I don't know what they told you, but I never sold you out, we never did. They found us through your work records, doing background research and putting two and two together. The shop, the house, it's all gone." He eyes are flat. He doesn't let go of the grip he has on my arm.  
  
I shut mine, covering my expression with shaking hands. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I shouldn't have been trying to do your job. If I'd just minded my own business then you would have been there and you'd still have a home."  
  
"It's not your fault-it was a-"  
  
"Can you please kill me?" I interrupt, the sudden hope flaring anew in my chest.  
  
"No! Why would-?" He's stunned by the proposal. I choke on the wave of disappointment. No rest for the weary. "We tracked you down to rescue you." He holds out a hand, "We have to leave now. There's no telling how many more men we can afford to kill to cover our escape before someone notices and sends a real army down here after us."  
  
I ignore the proffered assistance and fall back, not even feeling the fresh tearing of battered flesh. "No. Kill me. End this. I'm not playing along." I painfully bare my neck, waiting for the final moments.  
  
He roughly lifts me up in his arms, one under my knees, and one under my shoulders. It's time to give up. I've completely lost. I don't know who to believe. I muffle the gasp of pain against his shoulder. Don't touch my back; I plead silently.  
  
"Wait." I struggle to free myself. Somehow I manage to break free, painfully thudding down on my knees. Unheedful of discomfort or the vulnerable line of my back I'm leaving wide open, I frantically prod under the bedraggled mattress, weak hands trying to push aside the heavy mattress.  
  
Triumphantly I fish out the object. I clench it once more in my fist before spreading my palm out, burnished gold catching the faint light from the hallway.  
  
Aya kneels next to me. "My earring!" He plucks it from my hand, pocketing it. "When we finally got to safety, the building was burnt down, it wasn't in my ear anymore." He clasps my grimy hand between his two unblemished ones. I wonder if he's grateful or trying to make up a pathetic excuse for how I have it in my possession. Who cares?  
  
Embarrassed and still more than a tad unsettled I attempt to return to being plain old Youji, pushing him away and clambering to my feet, swaying but still upright. He catches my elbow, helping to steady me, willing to play human crutch.  
  
Ken and Omi wait in the corridor, gasping at my appearance. Aya stops to examine me in the improved lighting. Reeling, I grasp onto his sleeve, unable to hide the dizziness.  
  
"Youji?" Omi all but tiptoes forward, afraid to touch me; afraid I'll break. Maybe I will. "Oh, gods! We couldn't go back for you! They were after us, and when we cleared things away, you were gone." His eyes are actually filled with tears. I really must look scarier than fuck.  
  
Ken hesitantly grabs onto my wrist, the only uninjured spot he can find. "I'm sorry!" He whispers, shamefaced. Only Aya doesn't go all gushy and guilty on me. He knows I deserve this somehow. I shouldn't have pried into his business; if I hadn't, this never would have happened. I start up my newly altered self-depreciating refrain.  
  
We try walking a few steps, but I'm not doing so well, and in the end, Aya just hoists me up again, ignoring my grimacing and yelps of pain. Deciding to make the best of things, knowing I can end it all quite soon if things progress as I hope, I loop my aching arms around his neck and try to keep from making him struggle with my full weight. There is no penance left to pay. I give up.  
  
I don't know how we manage but somehow or another we don't come across a single living soul. We pass by a few dead bodies, previous work of my teammates, but nothing more. I feel like sobbing with relief as the fresh outside air hits me, free at last. I loose consciousness on the ride home, curled up against the window, still hoping to deny my existence.  
  
My eyes open again to an unfamiliar bathroom, overdone and far more luxurious than the one I'm used to. Ken's running a bathtub full of water. Aya helps me collapse against the counter, letting me lean against him while I try to readjust to my surroundings, to my own body.  
  
"Where are we?" I mumble groggily against his shoulder.  
  
"We rented a place. We have more than enough money to keep us going for several lifetimes." Ken looks up, blowing hair out of his eyes. "We'll stay here until you heal up enough to go country hopping, set up a new shop or residence somewhere."  
  
I shrug, unconcerned with the reasons for any of this.  
  
"I'm sorry, this is going to hurt a lot, but we need to get you cleaned off, I don't think we have enough rags to get all the grime off." Ken apologetically smiles, completely unaware of any of my inner turmoil.  
  
How can I be that filthy? I spent a hell of a lot of time in water; I've got the fever to prove how well it helped the cold set into my body. A bath? I'm NOT getting anywhere near liquid again, not even a damned cup of it.  
  
"I don't want to be clean." I try to keep my voice steady, concentrate on single things through the haze around my mind, muffling my thoughts.   
  
"You don't have a choice." Aya tells me, flat out. "Your back is infected, I'm assuming more of you has suffered permanent damage as well, and this is the only way to efficiently remove several layers of who knows what before even attempting to patch things up." He gestures towards the stiff and filthy pants clinging to my skin. Those are going to hurt coming off, dried to any number of stiff wounds as they are.  
  
"I won't get in that water." I grab a fistful of his coat lapels, trying to make him see in my eyes how against this I am, trying to spare what little pride and dignity I have left for a time when I might need them even more.  
  
Aya shrugs, the age-old "yes dear, whatever you say" expression of vacancy and inattentiveness on his face. He doesn't care. I won't lower myself to pleading with Omi or Ken. Those two at least still maintain some belief that I'm close to being sane, unlike Aya. They can't do this; I'll fight with all I have.  
  
Panic starts to set in as Aya shucks his coat, leaving to toss it out in the hallway. I curve in on myself, flashes of memories going through my mind. Unable to breath, the icy murky water above my head, around me, muffling my movements.  
  
"Can't I take a shower!?" I gasp out, knowing I can't do this.  
  
"You've deluded yourself into thinking you can stay upright that long?"   
  
I try to stand on my own to prove that I can. I almost pitch head first into the counter before his arms steady me. "You can't get up without falling over."  
  
I close my eyes, shuddering. "Aya. I can't do it, please!" The closest I've ever come to begging in my entire life. He can't do this, he's not them, he can't do this, can't hurt me like this. Why didn't he kill me? I don't want to be pathetic. I want to be dead. What's the point of living broken and useless.  
  
The tub fills, the water within gently steaming. I watch in horror as Ken runs to get a towel, refusing to meet my eyes still. He's on some sort of guilt trip alright, but still willing to help Aya with this new torture.  
  
"Do you want me to take care of all this?" Aya asks the brunette when he returns, flushed and nervous. I can see by the almost desperate relief in his brown eyes, that Ken too is abandoning me as well. Ken looks, apologizing profusely for more things not his fault before escaping from the room, closing the door behind the rush of cool air he lets in, swirling through the mist of water in the air.  
  
Aya manages to peel the blood caked denim off my legs with a great deal of effort on his part. Even if I can't stop him, I can at least have the satisfaction of defying by refusing to helping.  
  
He drags me towards the tub, overpowering my meager resistance.  
  
"You can't do this!" I latch onto his arm, ignoring the pain, ignoring my vulnerable nakedness. I can't do this. I'll die. My eyes ache with the remembered pressure, cold in my nose, my mouth, filling my lugs, choking me.  
  
"Aya please don't do this. I'm sorry about following you, I'm sorry I fucked up. Don't do this! I'm sorry! Whatever I did wrong, I won't do it again. Please!" Gods, I feel the urge to start bawling like a baby come on, and I'm helpless to stop. Shuddering deep breaths, it's okay, they can only hurt you, fear is only soul deep.  
  
He tries to make me step into the tub; I grab hold of him, tumbling him down into the octagonal bathtub with me. I can't breath, his weight crushing the air out of me, aggravating new and old pains, pushing me under. No!  
  
My arms thrash wildly against the air, the water, anything, trying to find a handhold. He hauls me up, coughing himself, hair plastered to his head, absolute rage beaming out of his eyes.  
  
"Sorry, sorry!" I gasp out clinging to him for support, to prove to myself that I can sit in the water, that I'm not going to die. My face burrows into the space between his neck and shoulder without my consent, gasping sobs filling the air. I hold on for life, arms locked around his neck.  
  
In return, his wrap around me, holding me. I give up, going limp against his body, not caring about the rough fabric of his soaking clothes against my raw skin, the water around me, just concentrating on the fact that he's not asking me anything, not hurting me, gloating over my fear. I give up and just try to accept that even though it's finally over, it really won't ever be.  
  
---  
  
"Youji?" The hesitant whisper makes me look up from Aya's careful ministrations. Omi's back in the doorway with his good old tray. Some things never change. I like that in an existence. Stability. He smiles tentatively again. "I thought you might be hungry when this is all through."  
  
He sets the take-out down near the mattress and creeps out of the room, leaving Aya to continue to pick up the pieces. He returns to smoothing some sort of medicinal crème over one of the worst burns on my torso. I let out a slow breath as some of the heat fades.  
  
He finishes up with my front before moving onto my legs, taking care of any fixable breaks in the skin, or smoothing numbing solvents onto bruises large enough to warrant attention. We use up almost an entire tube on my ribs before they eased enough to let me breath semi-freely, he assures me that this time they really are broken.  
  
He saves my back for last, having to slice open the infected, inflamed flesh to drain the wounds before smothering them with enough anti-bacterial cream to fill up a bathtub. Why don't I just bathe in the foul smelling goop? I muffle my grunts of pain against a fistful of bedcovers.  
  
I wonder how much blood I'll get on the blankets I've been allotted before it's all over. A hell of a lot more if Aya isn't a little more careful. I close my eyes, somehow managing to drop off into a cloudy slumber in the midst of having my back spliced and diced and everything niced.  
  
I wake from a dream about drowning, smothering in red water, in my own blood. Stone-face smiling at me, fire behind him, feeding off of the light. His hands tangled in my hair, pushing me back under. My legs unable to push against the quickly solidifying mass.  
  
I kick the blanket off, shivering in the cold air. Everything is silent, deathly so. I peer around the room in the evening gloom. The room is empty. The brand new mattress is on the floor; a lamp rests on the floor next to me, off, of course. Clicking it on, I scowl at the blank white walls, hating the pale color and the memories it brings on. What will it be like, to now forever associate white with evil and pain?  
  
Wrapping my arms around myself I look around for something to cover my nakedness. Considering the way I look right now, wandering around with nothing on at all is an atrocious thought. A pair of dark blue, cotton pants are at the foot of the mattress. Neatly folded. Left by Aya, I assume.  
  
It takes a lot more pain and effort, but I get the loose pants on, having to actually hold up the waist to keep it from falling down off my bony hips. Too long without eating. Omi's tray is gone, as is the food originally on it.  
  
I consider how much it would take to get myself down stairs to look around for food. My stomach growls, letting me know how much it would appreciate that effort. I look around for something to light the way in this unfamiliar building, or even a weapon. It's too quiet.  
  
For all of my current unease, I'm feeling a hell of a lot better after my long rest. The thoughts of suicide have currently resigned from the positions they held in the committee of my mind. I don't' know how long I've been sleeping, but it's been long enough for the painkillers and the various other drugs Aya woke me up to make me swallow to have kicked in.  
  
I finally find the scissors from the disbanded first aide kit. I hold them before me like a dagger as I silently push open the bedroom door, peering up and down the dark hallway. My hand searches out the light switch, quickly finding it to my relief.  
  
Pale yellow light floods the wood paneled corridor, shut doors here and there along it. I swallow and slowly head for the end not stopped by a wall. Stairs down. Everything below is pitch dark. I freeze. What if he's down there? What if they're down there, waiting for me? I can almost see shifting forms in the blackness.  
  
My stomach growls again. I strengthen my resolve. Nothing has changed. I own the dark. I am an assassin of the night. I have nothing to fear. I grip the scissors more tightly in my sweating palm, ready to drive forward. I pad down the wooden stairs, feet unsteady.  
  
My free hand grips the smooth wooden rail, gliding down without a hitch. My eyes dart around again, searching out any threats. Nothing moves, no sound anywhere. I swallow and run my hands along the walls in search of a way to illuminate the situation. My palms make a horrendous rasping noise along the textured wallpaper. I suck in harsh breaths, trying to keep calm.  
  
My fingers brush against hair. Oh fuck! NO! Pushing me down, knocking me down, smothering me. I kick back. Panting, terrified. Lifeless, it's just a coat. A parka with a fur lined hood. Omi's. Oh hell. I cover my face with shaky hands, breathing harshly. I thought it was a person, I thought it was a body. Oh hell.  
  
I slowly pull myself to my feet against the wall, feeling along the wall more, cursing when I bump into furniture. I finally find the plastic switch. I flick it up, nothing happens. My mind starts jumping to conclusions and screaming nonsense.  
  
Ping. Ping. The florescent lights flicker on, delayed. I cover my mouth and lean against the wall, shaking from exertion. Oh bloody hell. I take in the sparse furniture in the bare living room. A brand new television is set up under a curtained bay window. I look around for the room leading for the kitchen. My grip on the scissors doesn't ease in the least.  
  
I fumble for the switch in the kitchen, my toes curling on the icy tile. The kitchen is more modern, puts off a homier, more lived in air. There's a big note pinned to the fridge.  
"Hey, Youji!  
  
I don't know if you'll see this note. If you're reading this, Youji, then you should get your butt back to bed. ^_^ I put your food in the fridge when it became apparent you weren't going to wake up. Hope you're doing all right. We went out to get some food and more medical supplies for you. Eat plenty and get lots of rest. ^_-  
  
-Omi"  
I smile. How Omi like. Cheerful. I take one more suspicious look around before pulling the fridge open, leaving the note where it is. Sure enough. There's a big bag of greasy hamburger and fries with those familiar golden arches all over. I swear, I could be trapped in the center of the earth and I'd still see one of those restaurants.  
  
I make my ungainly way over to the microwave, just popping the whole paper bag in for a few minutes, smiling at the steam coming off it when I take it back out. Leaving the lights on, knowing that someone will pop out at me the second it's dark again, I tread back up the smooth stairs.  
  
I peer in my room, looking at the blazingly white walls, the shadowy poorly lit corners. I look down towards the darker end of the hallway. Taking a deep breath, bag still in hand, I go to briefly explore the rest of this rented house.  
  
The first door I open off of the upstairs hallway leads to the horrid bathroom. I quickly shut the door, thinking that if I look away for only a moment the enormous whirlpool tub will be full of bloody water and Stone-face will be behind me.  
  
The next door across the hall is obviously Omi's room. Computer technology litters the floor, but the bed is neatly made and the clothes are resting in neat folded piles against the wall. Next door down is Ken's. I doubt I could even walk across the floor. I don't know how he managed to completely obliterate such a large room in such a short time, but I never would have put him past it.  
  
This leaves one more room; I'm assuming it is Aya's. What else could it be? Again repressing the feeling that I'm invading his privacy yet again, I flick the switch and look around. It's almost as bare as the living room. A made up mattress on the floor, just like all the others, a stuffed chair with a coat slung over it, and a neat pile of clothing. That's all.  
  
I rub at my eyes and look back down the hall at the bright light still emitting from my open doorway. I look back at the dim, soothing luminescence from Aya's room. No contest. I shuffle into his room, perching on the end of the mattress to wolf down as much of the food as I can, glad to have found a place to settle before my wobbly legs gave out on me.  
  
It feels beyond sacrilegious to push back the blankets and sheets and slide under the cool covers. I burrow my face into the pillow, feeling calmer and safer already. Everything around me smells like Aya, from the leather of his coat to the shampoo scent on his pillow. I close my eyes and snuggle down deeper, trying to escape from the rest of the world and just sleep.  
  
"Youji? Oh hell! He's gone! Aya!" Ken shouts loudly, startling me from a sound slumber. I rub at my bleary eyes and prop myself up painfully on one elbow, listening to the chaos down the hall.  
  
"What do you mean?" Omi's voice is worried and exhausted.  
  
Their footsteps go pounding down the stairs. I consider dragging myself down after them, letting them know I wasn't off on my own. I let the idea drop, much like my head does. I'm warm and comfortable for the first time in I don't know how long. I'm not ruining this for anything.  
  
"All right. I hear you. We're going to have to look for him." I catch Aya growling angrily, stomping up the stairs. "Can I get my fucking coat first?" He whirls into the room, face terse, muttering all sorts of angry things under his breath.   
  
"Fucking three in the morning. Won't ever get to sleep now. Fucking inconsiderate-" He's almost out the door before the delayed reaction sets in and he whirls around.  
  
"Youji?" He drops down next to me. "What are you doing in here?"  
  
I uneasily grin and let my eyes sink closed again. "Just getting some rest. I couldn't stay in the other room."  
  
He snorts and throws the coat back on the chair, hurrying off to assuage Omi and Ken's concerns. Well, that went well. Maybe he'll let me stay, or switch bedrooms with me.  
  
I expect Aya to return with the other two, but only he comes stomping back up the stairs and into the room.  
  
"Do you need help back into your room then?" He asks brusquely.  
  
I shake my head. "I can't stay in that room. I mean literally, I cannot stay in that room."  
  
"Then where am I supposed to sleep?" He looks irked to say the least. How am I supposed to explain this?  
  
"I don't know. I'm sorry! Do you want my room?" I grab fistfuls of the covers, hoping it won't come to some sort of struggle. I'm not going back. It's that simple.  
  
"There is blood all over the mattress in your room. A lot of blood. Your blood. I don't want to sleep in your blood. That's your job." He hauls off the covers, prepared to do what I'd most hoped he wouldn't.  
  
I shiver and try to hunch down. Not this, not someone dragging me off to a new hell. I close my eyes, drawing back when I feel rather than see the arm coming at me, unable to stop the flinch.  
  
No contact is made. When I finally venture to crack one eye open, Aya has hunkered down next to me, not looking my way. I let out my breath and snatch up the blankets, hugging them to my chest as partial armor.  
  
"Why not?" He asks, turning in my direction, but not looking at me.  
  
"You wouldn't understand even if I could explain it. I can't stay in there. I'm sorry. Do you want me to stay downstairs? I could do that." I eagerly look for a way to make this all blow over and stop.  
  
"No." He shakes his head, tugging on his newly replaced earring pensively. "You're in no shape to stay on that piece of shit sofa we bought." The phrase seems out of place in his mouth, Aya rarely stoops to slangish profanity, but I understand the sentiment behind it.  
  
I start to fidget with my newly cleaned hair, twisting the strands between my fingertips. "What then?"  
  
He heaves a sigh. "I suppose I can sleep on your bed; I'll just get a new set of sheets and try to cope with it, if worse comes to worst, I could sleep downstairs." He looks more than a little unhappy with this idea.  
  
I twist my hair some more. "There's room for two." I finally squeak out, immediately hating how pathetic I sound. It's not like I NEED someone to be around in case I wake up with another nightmare. It's not like I need someone to be around to protect me from my own thoughts.  
  
Aya sighs deeply, obviously NOT considering the idea, before surprising me by replying, "I could give it a try." He almost smiles at my shocked look. "I bought this mattress for ME for a reason," by way of explanation.  
  
I don't blame him actually. It is comfortable. And he's staying, so it's not a problem. I'm not putting anyone out of his room, and I don't have to go back in mine. Mission accomplished, I guess.  
  
"Do want something to drink?" He looks around, trying to find something to do.  
  
"Maybe." I shrug, still gripping the covers tightly, almost convinced he's playing some sort of trick on me. The trust is gone.  
  
He clomps back downstairs, heavy footsteps echoing up and down the hallway, fully telegraphing his buried resentment. Moments later he returns with a glass of iced tap water, handing it over carefully.  
  
Aya kicks off his boots, taking one more glance at the time on his alarm clock. He carefully sits on the edge of the bed, trying not to jostle me. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge his reaction. I don't know if it really would be better for me to just sleep outside his door on the hallway floor. At times I'd rather face my own thoughts than Aya's wrath.  
  
I snort as Aya removes his long sleeved sweater, grasping it first under the arms and than pulling it up over his head revealing a smooth expanse of pale back.  
  
He gives me one of those black looks when he catches me staring blankly and goes about setting the many layers of blankets and sheets nice and straight and symmetrical again. Obsess much? How like him. Scary but true.  
  
Now that everything once again meets his requirements for neatness, apparently that means he's now allowed to get into bed. Looks like he needs the sleep too. The exhausted lines of his face are more apparent in the soft lighting than they should be.  
  
When he flicks the light switch I have to physically bite back a cry. Eh, not liking this at all. He moves in the dark, socked feet whispering against the bare wooden flooring. His weight dips down the edge of the mattress again, pausing.  
  
His feet, when they accidentally brush against mine, are bare. He automatically jerks back, arranging himself so that he has the prerequisite two feet between us, not impossible on this large of a bed. Well, mattress, not bed. You need box springs and at least a frame to make it a real bed.  
  
"How did you get hold of this house so quickly? Why did you buy only mattresses? Why not a whole bed?" My words sound too loud in the dark. Judging by Aya's growl, he thinks so as well.  
  
"With our kind of money, housing is not an issue." He states flatly. "We shouldn't be here longer than it takes for you to heal, why bother buying an entire bed. It's just that much more money and hassle."  
  
I start to chew on a strand of my hair, catching myself as soon as I notice what I'm doing. A bad childhood habit. My eyes feel like sandpaper. They always do. Even shutting them brings on more pain, not to mention blackness, inescapable.  
  
"Why do we bother?"  
  
Aya sounds puzzled. "What?"  
  
"Why do we bother with any of this? Whatever happens, whatever we do, it always comes out to the same end, it's always a hopeless pointless endeavor. Don't you get tired of it all?"  
  
"This is my life now. This is what I am good at. Seeing it as nothing but bleakness just depends on your personal point of view." He tone implies that it's my turn to be quiet so he can sleep.  
  
I can't let the idea go. I did just recently spend a hell of a lot more time thinking than I wanted to. Do I not even have a purpose in life any longer but to end the lives of others? How does that make me any better than Stone-face? Just because I don't personally sit around and ruin someone's life, I still kill people important to them, leaving a big hole in their lives.  
  
"Aya?" I roll over, half hoping he's still awake, half hoping he's not so I won't pester him and risk being kicked out.  
  
"What?" Anger apparent in his voice, slicing through the dark.  
  
"Never mind." I try not to sound as defeated as I feel. I never know when to stop. He's tired; I already saw that. What right do I have to even bother him? I'm taking up space in his bed, inconveniencing him.  
  
The springs creak as he shifts his weight my way, the uncurtained window casting enough light to outline the perfect lines of his shoulders as he sits up. Shit. I've done it now.  
  
He leans over me. "No never mind. Either I need to stay awake longer and answer questions, or you're going to be quiet and go to sleep. Make up your mind so I know what I'm supposed to do."  
  
I sigh, bone tired, wanting to just leave the face of this planet. "Nothing. Just go to sleep. I'm sorry. I talk too much; you know that. I'll be quiet."  
  
He gives me a few seconds to change my mind before lying back down, a bit closer this time.  
  
I scrub at my eyes, stuck on the same thoughts again and again. I will be quiet though. He wants me to, and if I want to stay then I'll go along with that. Where else would I go? He could always drag me back to the horrendously white room they put me in and lock the door; leave me there until I really did go all the way insane.  
  
"All I want is some good news, something that made what I went through worthwhile." I whisper, knowing I shouldn't, unable to stop myself. Self-control, something I should work on. No one wants to listen to my whining, least of all Aya, who's been nice enough to let me share the bed with him. "Tell me something good. Tell me something important."  
  
"The girl in the hospital, Aya. She is my sister." He speaks so softly I almost don't hear the words.  
  
I hold my breath and hope he'll keep talking, or if that's the only tidbit he'll throw to me, an attempt to shut me up.  
  
"She's in a coma. There's a slight chance she'll wake up though. I fight in her honor, borrowing her name for this short while. I know I'm just staining it with blood, but when she wakes up..." His tone changes, hope evident in his voice. "When she wakes up to take her name back, when I can stop with this bloody charade, then everything will be as it should."  
  
When he stops I venture a question. "What is your name?"  
  
Silence. Shit. Have I stepped over my boundaries again. He never came out and said it, maybe that's something private, for only him to know. I start tugging on my hair, wondering if it will actually wind up detaching from my scalp from the vicious force.  
  
"Ran." A name on a small puff of breath. "My name is Ran." The mattress shifts as he turns his back to me and pulls the top blanket up higher.  
**************  
I think that's as good a cutting off point as any for this chapter. More to come, of course! Yay! -claps hands- Okay, you know the drill! E-mail me! Or something! akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com Woot woot! More to come, but only if you give me feedback. 


	6. Chapter Six

Well, that last chapter was disturbing, and occasionally a tad OOC, not to mention deranged, but that's okay! It was interesting, no? -laughs- See! You're still reading! NYAH!  
**************  
I don't sleep much, staying up thinking. Aya has a sister. No. Ran has a sister. Her name is Aya. Hells, I certainly didn't see that coming, did I? I watch his sleeping profile, trying to puzzle out a lot of things. Why hadn't he ever mentioned her?  
  
He sighs in his sleep, eyelashes fluttering for a second. What else does he have to hide? What do I really know about him then? He has a sibling. Does he have others? Where are his parents? Why is he here instead of with them? Why is the girl, Aya, in a coma?  
  
I curl up under the blankets, exhausted beyond comprehension, yet unable to sleep for the wondering. I almost wish he hadn't told me.  
  
His eyes are open. When did he wake up?  
  
"Are you going to sleep soon? Or are you going to keep twitching about for a few more hours?" He growls at me. Why do I find it reassuring when he gets angry with me? Maybe because it's the one thing I can expect from him and not be let down on.  
  
"I'm sorry." I'm unsure of what else to say, holding back a barrage of inquiries.  
  
"Don't be sorry, just stop it." He crosses his arms behind his head, under the pillow. I rub at the gathering ache behind my eyes. Is this what it feels like to be old? Body a constant aching mass of unpleasantries?  
  
"Why is it you're physically incapable of holding still??" He snaps, sitting up, in full Aya-rage pissed-off mode, eyes raw and tired behind the almost superficial anger. He needs sleep more than he needs to want to smother me with a pillow, going through for show now.  
  
"You want a list of noteworthy complaints? My head hurts and I can't sleep, all right. Ever inch of me screams agony in a million different colors. I keep thinking I see people coming through the walls at me, and you're playing Mr. Enigmatic again. I'm trying to hold still. It's not my fault the rest of my entire body hurts no matter how I'm lying." I decide to go ahead and air my grievances, bed sharing or no. If he kicks me out, I'll just sleep on the floor in the hallway, nowhere else to go, and I couldn't possibly be more uncomfortable by this point, could I?  
  
"Why the hell are you complaining still?" It comes out as a roar, as he hurls his pillow at the lamp, smashing ceramic against wooden floors. Down the hallway, I can hear thumps from Omi's room and Ken's as well, as bare feet hit the bare, cool floors. "If you hadn't taken to following me around, invading my privacy, none of this would have happened. If you would just get out of my business and stay away from me, none of this would have happened." In a fit of rage he throws my pillow at the wall for good measure. "I don't know whether to accuse you or myself of being the one who destroys everything they touch."  
  
I flinch back from his rage, no longer just a farce, jumping further when Omi and Ken come barreling into the room.  
  
"What's going on?" Ken demands, eyes wide, trying to feign an air of awareness he doesn't possess yet. His hair is rumple from sleeping, claws strapped on and ready for business, both of them jumpy as hell. Neither Omi nor Ken appear overly startled to find me wrapped up in the blankets from Aya's bed, though from the angry looks they're both shooting Aya, they're thinking he shouldn't be berating me so soon after my return.  
  
"It doesn't concern you." Aya tersely informs them. The light from the hall beautifully lights his amethyst eyes, turning him into some sort of holy vengeful demon. I stare with amazed eyes, seeing him in a altered light for the full ten seconds it takes for the door to swing shut under it's own power.  
  
Ken stands behind me, no doubt glaring daggers at our violent red headed teammate all the while. Aya glowers back, no longer unearthly, just frighteningly angry.  
  
"This doesn't concern you in the slightest bit." He reiterates.  
  
"Yes, this does concern me. If your attitude it detrimental to Youji's health then it does concern me very much so." Aya meets him with glittering ice chip eyes. I certainly would feel a twinge of uncertainly for MY life if I had those eyes trained on me, and why the hell is Ken trying to defend me now? What have I missed here?  
  
"You worried I'm going to break a few more of his ribs, throw him into a wall?" His eyes are narrowed, furious slits. "This is a matter between the two of us and we're settling it as such."  
  
Omi tugs on Ken's sleeve, acknowledging Aya's explanation. I'm unsure whether to be relieved or worried. "Ken. Come on."  
  
"One piece. He better be in one undamaged piece tomorrow morning." Ken fiercely hisses. I don't need him to protect me. I wave in his direction. He gives in to Omi's insistences that he leave the room.  
  
Aya fixes his untamed rage back on me once the door is securely closed. "Why are you bitching at me? I did the best I could. I took care of you when you showed up again. It's not my fucking fault you're a useless failure, that you can't manage to do anything correctly." The words come unendingly, a damn finally unstopped. "If YOU would just keep to your own business and stay out of mine, everything would be fine. If you would just get over whatever it is that's affecting your attitude, I wouldn't have had to get involved in the first place. Every time I turn around all I see is you fucking up yourself again, purposefully injuring yourself or letting others do the work for you. What the hell are you bitching at me about?"  
  
I unsteadily clamber to my feet, shedding blankets.  
  
"What are you doing now?" Aya hisses impatiently.  
  
Without replying, I push through the door, knocking over two eavesdropping assassins in the process.  
  
"Youji? What's going on?" "Are you okay?" They burst out simultaneously. I don't reply, trying to stomp, but only succeeding in reeling, down the hall. Back to my room. He's right. I'm useless, can't do anything right, I should have died, he should have killed me. I deserve to suffer in fear, waiting for reasoning to return in this horrid pale place.  
  
I run his words through my head as I just manage to keep from throwing myself down on my mattress, knowing that action would leave me in agony. I ease down, crouching on the edge. 'If you would just get over whatever it is that's affecting your attitude, I wouldn't have had to get involved in the first place.'  
  
So why did he then? Was it some sort of fucking joke to him? I thought maybe after all this time we'd spent watching each other's backs and sharing the dark secret of Weiss, perhaps he'd feel something other than disdain or indifference for me. Don't I deserve friendship? A bit of grudging respect? I don't need him toying with my emotions.  
  
Hushed whispers outside my door. I stumble back to lock my door, wondering if I'll pass out as everything swims in and out of focus. I can't win, can I? Just when I think something good is happening, it goes wrong, or never reaches a plateau that could be described as even tolerable to begin with.  
  
I curl up, ignoring the pain, ignoring everything, fists to my eyes, trying to forget about those damned blaring white walls, to forget about why it is my whole body hurts, forget about why there's that tightening of my chest.  
  
All thoughts of sleep are gone, replaced by self-loathing and that irrational desire to give up and abandon life. Painkillers would help. Lots and lots of them. Enough to ease the pain of my body, and ease the motions of my heart. If Aya put them back in the bathroom though, I'm out of luck. I'm not leaving this room.  
  
Someone tries the doorknob, repeatedly. Bangs on the wooden barrier they've come up against. I ignore it. The door slams open, the old lock tearing through the wall. Aya. Panic now. He's going to kill me. That's what I want, but not like this. I don't want to die like this, the victim of another senseless beating. No more pain. I should die, for the cringing coward I've become.  
  
"Aya! Stop it." Behind him, meaningless phrases. I don't' remove the fists from my eyes. The door slams shut, the heavy scrapes of furniture being dragged in front of the door. Oh gods, he's barricading himself in here with me.  
  
My own mattress dips down in front of me. I won't open my eyes. It won't be Aya or Stone-Face, just this blending of the two, an indescribable, horrible monstrosity, bent on causing pain and terror.  
  
Hands catch hold of my own fisted ones, pulling them away from my eyes. I don't want to see. Don't want to hurt. Nothing, no blows, no yelling, no sound, no nothing. Just fingers wrapped around my own, silence. I cautiously open one eye, expecting blinding light, Waxen dark features, black hair.  
  
Moonlight, blood red hair, features cast into perfect shadow. "Youji, I-" He stops, the words strained to breaking. He curves his body forward, his face inches from mine as he focuses on my face.  
  
"Listen. I shouldn't have said that." His eyes dip shut. "There's a reason I don't talk much, I shouldn't have-" he sighs, as if the admission tears at the fiber of his being. I know it does. Any form of apologizing grains against his stiff pride.  
  
I don't reply. I won't fall into his trap. I've done that already. Pretending he actually gave a fuck whether or not I lived or died. Making me eat when I wouldn't, saving my life when I wanted to be killed. Some sort of amusing game for him. I lower my eyelids and snatch my hands back.  
  
He makes a noise in his throat. Mad about this then? Showing his true colors?  
  
"Why don't you trust me?"  
  
I keep silent. I wonder if there's anyone left out there who doesn't harbor some secret design with the ultimate goal of fucking me over?  
  
"I don't have any goals like that." Aya informs me candidly.  
  
Shit. Did I say that out loud? I hadn't meant to. Have trouble trying to keep my mouth from speeding ahead of my mind. I cautiously straighten up, hesitant, but a bit surer he's not going to kill me or hurt me, not immediately, at least.  
  
Ken's pounding desperately on the door and yelling, but the heavy dresser somewhat muffles the noise. I look back to Aya.  
  
"What is it that you want from me then. It seems like no matter what I do someone is always out to get me, or use me for something, or abandon in return for something better. It's just too much sometimes, you know?" My shoulders slump tiredly. "I can't trust you. I can't trust anyone. What am I supposed to do?"  
  
"Why don't you trust me?" He repeats.  
  
"Why should I? From day one you've only criticized me and complained about various ingrained portions of my personality. Then out of the blue you suddenly turn around and start buddying up to me in your own resentful, harsh way. All I can think is that you want something from me. You MUST want something from me. I can't think what. I don't have anything left."  
  
"Youji, are you okay? Aya, you fucking son of a bitch, have you finally lost your mind?" Ken's freaking out, for lack of a better phrase. There's anger and worry and fear wrapped up in his shouts.  
  
Aya's fingertips brush my jaw, turning my face back in his direction. "I have no ill will towards you. You are my teammate, I'd almost say friend. I trust you, and would hope you'd do me the same courtesy. I have never wronged you in any way. I have only your good will in mind," he earnestly states.  
  
I shrug and look down, the possibility of being lied to and manipulated yet again too much to think around. He grasps my hands again. "Please. Trust me. Have I ever faulted you?" Soft, trying to win me over. He clasps my hands in his again. I feel trapped but don't break away. Fine, he wants to play it this way. I won't cooperate, but I won't stubbornly resist either.  
  
He tilts his head downwards; trying to make me lift my head up, make me meet his eyes. I lean forward, my forehead coming to rest against his chest, tired beyond all words, all thoughts. His arms circle around me, an odd sensation after so long without contact, without pain. My mind flashes back to the bathtub, how he just sat with me until I calmed down, stayed in the water with me, soaking clothes and all. That's not something you'd waste your time on for something too trivial, right? Or is it? With Aya, I've never understood.  
  
Slow soothing hands stroke my hair, remembering not to touch my back or the sore spot on the back of my skull. I close my eyes, turning Ken's upset squalling into white noise. Peace.  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
"No." I blithely answer, not concerned at all. If he'd be quiet then all would be well. I almost want to cry, but my eyes are desert dry. This is one of those instances where deliberately caused pain produces sensations beyond exquisite when finally stopped, basking in the wave of abating tension, of relief. Real human touch after so long without. Next I should try banging my head against a wall so it feels marvelous when I stop. Same principal.  
  
His arms release me. I try not to cling. Now he's going to open the door and show Ken the still undamaged me. Well, not undamaged, just not worse-off me. And then he'll go back to his room and I'll be in here. I look dreamily at those pale walls, glaring in the dark. Maybe instead of dying, I can just stay in here forever, punished by the things I failed to deter, the thoughts I can't quite cancel out.  
  
With a heave he pushes the heavy dresser back from the door, the huge mirror wobbling but never falling over. I watch the mirror for reflections from things not actually in the room with us, but none appear. What a relief. Six hundred horror movies later, and I still wouldn't know what to do.  
  
Ken burst in, slamming Aya back, hurling verbal obscenities at him, that good old self-righteous rage flaring in his eyes. You've got to admire the kid. He's got panache when it comes to almost embarrassing fits of emotion.  
  
He slams Aya backwards when he sees me, kneeling down next to me. "Youji? Are you alright? Are you okay? What the hell is going on?"  
  
I look numbly back at him and shake my head, not sure what he's asking.  
  
Ken examines my face, attention darting from me back to Aya and then back to me again. I jerk away from his prodding fingers, forcing my mind to push aside a few layers of haze, forcing my tongue to work, my mouth to open.  
  
"I'm fine. Aya and I just had to finish with a discussion." I'm almost shocked by how flat the words sound. I don't know. Maybe I have no reason to be paranoid. Perhaps I'm just looking for problems and deceit where they don't exist, too used to seeing that in all past experiences.  
  
Ken shifts so he's crouching comfortably. "Are you alright Youji?"  
  
"Yeah, I said I was, didn't I?"  
  
"I'm not talking about whatever it is you and Aya are fighting about. I'm talking, 'are you okay' in general? I don't know all of what happened to you, what you were told, but I do know you came back soaked in your own blood and half dead, you still look like shit, no surprise, you've only been back for two days."  
  
This gives me a pause. Two days since I left that place? How long have I slept then? Total hours, that is. I stop paying attention to Ken as I try to puzzle that out. How long have I been dead to the world? How many days have I not been here?  
  
"How long have I been gone?"  
  
"You're going to have to clarify." Omi pipes up.  
  
"How long was I not here? How long ago was the job at the Towers? How many days passed while I was gone?"  
  
"Weeks." Omi gently corrects. "You've been gone for over two weeks. Didn't you know that?"  
  
"Silly me. I should have been keeping track on the Cuddly Kittens calendar they left in my cell," I snap back. Over two weeks. How could I lose that much time and not know it?  
  
I stumble to my feet, whirling around, hall light shining on the pale walls, too many people in the room. Crowded.  
  
"I'm going to go sleep downstairs, on the couch. Just leave me alone." I haphazardly push past all living bodies in my way, thumping painfully down the stairs, head ringing with every heavy-heeled footstep.  
  
Why bother killing myself. Life itself will take care of that on its own some time soon.  
  
I curl up in a shivering, aching ball, trying to shut out the world without the benefit of sanity, or even a pillow or blanket. That pretty much sums up my life. Me, myself and I, weathering the elements and taking things as best we can. Aya, thankfully, doesn't follow me, trying to play nursemaid. Blissful silence. Breath vaporizing cold.  
Someone, the sun probably, stupid son of a bitching sun, has decided that burning my retinas out through the skin of my eyelids would be a spectacular idea. My eyelids flutter open, squinting shut against the light beaming right into my face. I try to place my surroundings, completely lost in my barely conscious state. Aya's room. The hell? I prop myself up on my elbow, look at his clock. It's barely after six in the morning. Where is Aya then? I'm not seeing him anywhere.  
  
I sit up and rub at my face, trying to piece things together. Wasn't I still supposed to be on that couch? Kicking the blankets off, I decide to go find out what exactly is happening. Heedless of the early hour, I stumble out into the hallway, expecting to find SOMEONE up at least. Ken's door is shut, Omi's partially closed.   
  
I peek in on Blondie, not sure what I expect to see. A few tufts of blond hair poking up from under a great big heap of blankets. His deep sleep breathing barely registers beneath his huge pile of downy warmth. He's out still then, that means Ken in all likelihood is just as dead to the world.  
  
Where the hell is Aya? I grumpily wonder. Down the stairs I go. This house isn't so bad in the light. Everything is clearer and less fear inspiring in the sun. It's a lot easier to be calm and rational when things aren't shadowy and intimidating.  
  
Aya's asleep on the couch. Grr. How am I supposed to play martyr if he interferes. So much for a nice bout of self-pity and aggravated wounds to complain about.  
  
I lean on the armrest, hovering above his head, glaring down at his peaceful, sleeping face. Apparently he can't subconsciously see me glowering at him; maybe if I try harder I'll burn holes in his skull with my eyes. No such luck. What's a guy to do when he can't ignite things with his laser vision?  
  
I poke him, right between the eyes. He growls something low in his throat and bats at my hand.  
  
"Uhnn. Sleeping." He rolls away from me, squinching his eyes tightly shut. I plop down on the couch next to him, bereft of my usual grace, but hell, it's understandable.  
  
"Wakey, wakey Aya." I poke between his bare shoulder blades. He hunches them up and continues to try to sleep. I push the blankets aside and curl up against his back, grateful for the warmth. I'm going to annoy him awake if it's the last thing I do. If I'm up at six-something in the morning, he'd damned well better be.  
  
Why the hell is he down here? I nuzzle my cold nose against the back of his neck. No reaction at all. Like lying next to a not yet cooled corpse. Hehe. He grabs the blankets, yanking them back up from where I'd shoved them.  
  
"If you're going to make me cold, go away." He mutters at me, pulling the covers up above his head, mine as well. Mmm, warm indeed. Nothing nicer than heated flesh against heated flesh. Well, of course, it's nicer if the flesh is against flesh because you're having sex, but right now, I'll take what I can get. Skin is skin, and that's that.  
  
Irritably, Aya carefully switches directions, facing me again, on the narrow couch. He shifts, pulling me partway on top of him so he can stretch out all the way, closing his eyes and falling back asleep again. He's like a big, malleable teddy bear when he's sleepy like this, almost comforting.  
  
Physically tired, but not at all sleepy for once, I lie awake, staring at his face for a while more, for lack of better entertainment. Even asleep, the weariness is apparent on his features, from the tight set of his mouth, to the dark circles resembling bruises under his eyes.  
  
If one were to read his face without knowing him, they'd immediately assume he had the weight of the world on his back, and then some. He's beautiful, actually, but that's another one of those thoughts I don't like to have. Then again, I could just be mentally rambling on like a moron though; I do that sometimes.  
  
I rest my forehead on his shoulder, trying to dissolve myself into his calm state of existing, of being. His eyes open.  
  
"Can you never stay still?"  
  
I look up with a flurry of apologies on my lips, see his slightly amused expression and stop. He almost smiles for a second, catching sight of my repentant expression. I do grin back, it being more along the lines of my nature.  
  
He gently pokes my right cheekbone with one of his long tapered fingers. "You're certainly in a better mood?" It's more of a question than a statement He readjusts the blankets a bit more, concealing us in a cozy, safe tent, reminiscent of play from my early, slightly more innocent childhood.  
  
I give a miniature shrug, not even sure myself. "I just don't feel like absolute crap today, it's a nice change." I nuzzle against his bare shoulder, hair tumbling into my face in a tickling waterfall, trying to see how much I can get away with while this streak of daring lasts. "Mmmm." So very pleased with myself. Warm, comfortable, and pleasantly close to not being in an unbearable amount of pain.  
  
He tilts his head and rests it against mine, eyes shutting again, breath coming out in a relaxed sigh. He's nicer when he's sleepy, I realize. Maybe if I just drug him out of his mind all the time...  
  
"When's the last time you spent any amount of time in direct sunlight?" I trace a finger down along his arm, marveling at the absolute paleness of it.  
  
He smacks my hand away, twitching his arm away from my curious attention. "Don't do that." Irritated, but only minimally so.  
  
"Why not? Don't like complete strangers groping you?" I jokingly lean forward and run my tongue along the outer edge of one of his perfectly shaped ears before sucking an earlobe into my mouth, gently nipping at it.  
  
Beside me, his entire body goes ridged, jerking back from me. The body heat we managed to capture and surround ourselves with escapes as the blanket gets kicked away. His eyes waver between startlement and bewildered anger.  
  
I grab a hold of his arm before he can start and bolt. "Hell! I was kidding around. I'm the one who's supposed to be jumpy and chumming with the cult of victim hood! I was just joking, calm down Aya." Frightened by my own reaction. I am not going to turn into some sort of slut again, going after anyone and everything in an attempt to burn the past from my mind. I back away, trying to figure myself out. "Just calm down." If that's to myself or him, I'm not sure.  
  
He does just that, schooling his expression and shrugging off my hand. "Don't do that, ever." He turns to face me, a perfect picture of seriousness.  
  
"Why not?" I demand, somewhat irked. "Look, I was only kidding, first off, and secondly, what right do you have to be so jumpy? I'm the one who spent who the fuck knows how long playing with Captain Bondage and his little rapist friends." I stop. "Nevermind, whatever."  
  
I slump forward, elbows on knees, chin on hands. There goes my good mood for this morning. I don't know whom to blame. Am I at fault for not knowing when to just back off and retreat to a corner to revel in my first break from hard times, or should I be glaring at Aya and all his damned warped issues?  
  
Uncomfortable silence ensues. Gods, these stupid awkward pauses. Can't stand them. I rub uncomfortably at the back of my neck, one of the few unmarked spots on my body.  
  
His hands hesitantly brush mine aside and take over work on my sore muscles. I suppose I could take this as a counterbalance for the silence but- Mmmm, right there, harder.   
  
Knuckles kneading deep into tense tissue, gliding down to the flesh between my neck and shoulders, on to shoulder blades. I close my eyes with the pleasure of it all, leaning back into his touch. Yeah, I could definitely accept this as an apology. I unconsciously let out a low groan, loving every second.  
  
He pauses. "Am I hurting you?"  
  
"Far from it." Another deep sigh. "Mmmm, how much would I have to pay you in the way of a salary to get this once a day?" It's not that he's extraordinarily good at this, I wouldn't expect him to be, shunning human contact like the plague as he tends to do. Still, it's another person, reaching all those out of the way spots I myself can't get at, easing more tension then I'd ever thought possible, relaxing muscles I didn't know existed. Okay, now I'm starting to sound more than a little deprived.  
  
He returns attention to my neck, and I lean back against him, surprised by his undeniable solidity again. His arms go around my torso, calm, supporting. Hell, who needs a string of non-productive, depression inducing girlfriends when you can have an Aya? Comes complete with his own emotional hang-ups and easily irritated personality. I get the impression that product might not sell too easily.  
  
Steady breaths by my ear. Slouched as I am, I actually have to tilt my chin upwards to meet his eyes. My lips spread apart in a smile again. Damn, but it's good to be somewhere else! Aya's eyes lower, following the curve of my lips, and I know exactly how this will turn out, a slow seduction from both and neither of us. I have the good sense to stop smiling in time, at least.  
  
Slow and hazy, warm lips against mine. My mind shuts down, but habit is more than willing to take over, habit knows what to do next, regardless of the fact that it's one of my male teammates I'm locking lips with. Progressing to tongues, hot slick, his full lower lip between my teeth. Gods, now I'm in heaven. His fingers clench in my hair, tugging on my scalp, trying to swallow my tongue whole.  
  
Just when things are finally starting to get good, Ken comes loudly tromping down the stairs. That's more than enough to startle Aya out of the kiss. I try to thread fingers through his hair to keep him there, hormones more than willing to be seen like this by Ken, Omi, or even the entire world. Aya's not willing for that to happen, I manage to catch a glimpse of wild, confused amethyst eyes before he bolts from the room.  
  
It's all I can do not to give Ken an Aya-like death glare when he finally tromps through the living room. I sigh and lean forward, resting my forehead on my hands, suddenly craving a nice cigarette to make everything all better. Who cares if two whole weeks without a cigarette, willing or unwilling, is the only head start I'll really get to quitting? You don't see alcoholics using any such reasoning, do you? Addictions are addictions, and old habits are hard to push away.   
  
"Are you up already?" Ken asks. "Who brought the blanket down for you? Aya?"  
  
I'm startled for a second, before remembering, of course, how would Ken know that Aya'd carried me back upstairs and slept down here in my stead? "Yeah, Aya did." I rub at my face. "Now if he could find a pack of cigarettes and a can of beer for me too." I trail off, not sure if my fake aggravated tone really is all that fake.  
  
"Well, now is as good a time as any to quit." Ken points out. "You've been all this while without a cigarette. It can't be THAT bad for you still. Use a little will power, Youji." He flippantly calls over his shoulder, loudly thumping into the kitchen. I glare daggers after him. Damn it! No Aya, no sex, no cigarettes. That's a definite goodbye to the pleasant mood.  
  
"We have no food in this house." Ken cheerily announces, bouncing back and flumping down on the couch next to me. Great. No food either. "Actually, I'm thinking of running out somewhere, not a food store, a decent restaurant, eat some good food in a nicer atmosphere. Do you want to come with? Or would you like me to bring you something back?"  
  
"I don't apparently own any clothes anymore." I remind him. "I'm hungry enough to leave the house like this, but I think my somewhat battered state might raise some concern out in the general public." I demonstratively poke one of the dark angry bruises decorating my ribs. "Someone might turn you in for spouse abuse." It's hard not to laugh at the image.  
  
Ken scowls, thinking.  
  
"Don't hurt yourself!" I joke, my nature not cooperative enough to let me brood on my own.  
  
He starts to pull back to punch my arm in retaliation before realizing what his hand would connect with. "Sorry! Wasn't thinking." He sighs. "I could pick up some clothes for you, while I'm out. I've lived with you long enough and done enough laundry to know your size and style preferences."  
  
I look up with an eager grin. "Real clothes would be MUCH appreciated. I mean, hell! What am I wearing now? Are these Aya's pants or something?" I pluck at the loose waist. Ken laughs.  
  
"What do you want to eat?"  
  
I shrug in reply. "Food. Period. Anything is fine with me."  
  
He grins and dashes upstairs for a shower. One thing taken care of. Now to find Aya before irreparable damage is done.  
  
I look in the kitchen first, making my way there slowly and carefully. Yeah, I'm feeling a tiny bit better, but even I know better than to push that right now. No Aya. He hasn't run upstairs, I know that much. There are more than enough rooms downstairs, none of which I'm familiar with. Off the living room I find a surprisingly bare room. I guess no one could really think of anything to do with it. From what I've heard from my teammates so far, we're not exactly on planning on settling down here.  
  
Next off I encounter a smaller room who's sole occupant seems to be a couch, back to me. I pause, hearing the barely audible breathing of my quarry. So this is where he's run to hide.  
  
"Sometimes I think your issues FAR surpass my own." I state, leaning over the back of the couch. Startled violet eyes meet my own before narrowing defensively. Talk about role-reversals. I guess last night was my turn to be paranoid and unresponsive, now it's his. A slight frown creases my forehead; he WAS the one to kiss me...  
  
Aya's scowl deepens. "You're invading my space." He finally states, unable to come up with a better dismissal. His lips tighten and my eyes are drawn to his mouth, instantly replaying the brief kiss, urging me to go back to where we left off. I lower my eyelids, blocking the site as I try to reign myself in. Gods, but it's been a long time. Here I am lusting after AYA of all people. That's about as sane as finding nuns to be desirable. No way, no how.  
  
I consider leaping over the back of the couch as I normally would, have a brief internal conversation with my body and settle for walking around the side. I settle down next to Aya. "Look. I don't want things to go awry between us. We're teammates, we four against the world. We can't be hating each other, especially not now, when we don't even have a real home anymore."  
  
In an unexpected, almost childish gesture, Aya sighs, slumps and then grasps for my arm. Silence, but none of the pent up frustration and upset in the air this time. Carefully I slide my arm back and clasp his dry palm. "Can we at least have a truce then?" I ask, searching his face.  
  
He smiles back, unexpectedly. The smile fades and his eyes lower again. I sigh. "We're all really falling apart here, aren't we?" I whisper, not expecting a reply.  
  
That's when Aya decides it would be a good time to kiss me again. Funny how his mind works, even funnier how ready I am to accept it all. He's artless with inexperience but surprisingly willing to give it his all. Nothing but pure lust now, my teeth nip at the corner of his mouth before parting his lips with my tongue, thrilling at the slick heat. His heartbeat quickens beneath my palm.  
  
The kiss intensifies as the seconds pass. His hands tangle in my sleep-mussed hair, kneading my scalp while I explore his mouth, tongue slicking across his. The low breathy moans of response send shivers down my spine. Slowly, so slowly he doesn't notice, I start to lever him backwards, taking the upper hand. What else would Youji Kudou the Seducer of Innocents do? Gods, I could die like this, kissing this warm pliant mouth, sucking on that delectable lower lip, sliding my hands up his bare, searing skin. He starts under my fingertips, but settles again as they rough across his nipples, pushing him all the way down.  
  
His legs part for me, hot erection against hot hard erection. It seems natural to rock my hips against his, natural to swallow his muffled gasp. His hips buck right back against mine and I find myself hating the borrowed pants blocking me from real, raw skin. I can't concentrate, my mind falling into shadows as my deprived and needy body takes over. Aya certainly has no complaints as I finally break our kiss and trail tiny nips down his neck, pausing to lap at the hollow of his throat. I can physically feel the muted groan in his throat resonating through my skull.  
  
I start trailing wet, slow, sucking, open mouthed kisses down along his chest, my hips slowing and then stopping, chuckling at Aya's softly voiced protests.  
  
"Youji! What are you- Mmmm..." He trails off as my mouth closes over his nipple. I lash my tongue across the hardened nub of flesh, sucking lightly. Aya practically melts, kneading increasingly at my scalp like a pleased cat. Gods, I could make him purr, I could make him scream my name. I turn to his other nipple, repeating the process, backing away fractionally to blow cool air over the stiff nub, gently rolling its neglected companion between fingertips.  
  
Underneath me, he rears up, flipping me to the bottom, initiating a harsh, almost violent clash of lips and teeth and hot tangling tongues. His hips forcefully grind against mine, rapidly focusing all my attention on the juncture between my thighs. Gods, if he'll just keep this up... Little tremors run through me as I thrust back up, hungry for the much-missed rush of an orgasm. Teasingly, my fingernails rake down his sides. He hisses sharply and retaliates with a few well-aimed snaps of his hips. I throw my head back and gasp, tingles shivering down my entire body, too-long hair trying to stand on end.  
  
"Nnn, fuck, Aya. Don't you dare stop." I mumble against the silk flesh of his shoulder. He wants to play top-dog right now, no problemo. Just as long as he doesn't stop. Control rapidly slipping, I bite down on his shoulder, thrilling at his guttural murmuring. Gods, the things he's whispering in my ear, the invitations are enough to make me light headed.  
  
All I want is him, pinned down under me, muscles straining towards mine as I slide into his tight hot body, his breath thundering in my ear as his nails claw furrows down the length of my back.  
  
So close, just a few more seconds. Don't stop. Gods, the pleasure is overwhelming, it's been so long, just want release, but it keeps building. He's hard, grinding against me, skin burning but smooth to a touch. His lips find mine again, fingers tangle in my wandering ones. Unbearable, so very close, shudders shaking me, tears leaking from under closed eyelids. Oh fuck, I need this, need to knock him back, need to be inside, to feel that velvet clutching me tight as I finally give in and come. So close, please, so close, I could die like this.  
  
I struggle to regain the upper hand. This is my game, not his. When he won't give in easily and let me sit up, I heave upwards and knock us both off the couch, using his surprise to my advantage and coming out on top, literally. He thrashes, determined to win this match, but I've got him off balance. My hands greedily stroke down his exposed torso, pushing down cloth when they encounter his waistband. Aya's lost, face tilted up, eyes dark closed slits, breath coming in harsh, raw sobs. Gods, that face, I swoop down for a demanding kiss, sucking his distracted tongue into my mouth, reinstating my dominance. This is MY ball game. Fuck, I can't stop. I don't want to stop. I close my own eyes, dissolving into everything around me.  
  
"Hey! Youji! I'm heading out now! Are you sure you don't have anything specific you want me to pick up for you to eat?" Ken hollers from the stairwell. Talk about throwing ice water on a guy. Aya freezes, eyes snapping open, then before I even have time to back off myself, knowing that look in his eyes, he scrambles upright, knocking me over in the process. I grumble as he turns for flight.  
  
"If you go out there, then not only will Ken see you, but he'd have a pretty good guess of what you were up to." I state calmly, he freezes again, poised for flight. How like him. "I think he might notice the big bulge in the front of your pants, no? He's not entirely stupid." I grin, admiring the view.  
  
I deliberately glide my eyes up and down his body, immediately slipping back into playboy mode with the reintroduction to sex still playing on my frazzled nerves. Aya, sex, Aya, sex. Odd words to use one right after another, but right now, looking at his flushed face, his ruffled hair, his heaving chest, those two words are starting to seem like a pretty good combination.  
  
"Youji? Are you still down here?" Ken calls again. I sigh, running trembling fingers through my hair.  
  
"Yeah, just came back here to get some rest where no one could thump around and bother me. I still don't want anything specific to eat. Thanks though." I force a false note of sleepy gratitude into my voice, knowing my voice will carry well in this airy new home.  
  
"Well, all right then, get plenty of rest, Youji!"  
  
I hear the front door open and then slam close. I watch amethyst eyes dart back and forth between my face and the door. Scared, on the edge of fleeing. Welcome to the club, Aya. I run fingers through my hair again, trying to settle my thoughts into some order as arousal starts to partially cool.  
  
Being my usual eloquent self, I finally give in and sigh. "What exactly was that all about?" I meet his stare with a frank one of my own. Gods, this is all so, for lack of a better description, fucked up. One second Aya's hating me, the next he's doting on my disoriented emotions, and then we're going at each other like animals in heat.  
  
He wants to bolt, just forget everything that happened. I'm sure he could too, if I'd let him. This is more than a little confusing. I continue to focus on his face, waiting for a reaction of any sort. Nothing, his expression is blank, vision focusing on something over my shoulder.  
  
I gingerly rise to my feet, body protesting my earlier vigor, and the lack of care I showed it. Aya inches back a step.  
  
"You run away now, and I'll hunt you down and kick your ass." I caution, taking a few shaky steps closer. "And don't think I can't or won't." It's meant as a joke, but I don't smile, and neither does he.  
**************  
See, and there you were thinking you got a full lemon this early in the game! Well, a teaser is better than nada! Write to me, complain or something! I crave e-mails. I crave feedback! darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com or akainobaka@mchsi.com Take your pick! 


	7. Chapter Seven

Yay for more Youji and Aya type stuff! Cheering must now ensue!  
**************  
Terse silence. My thoughts waver drastically, never sure where to settle their discomfited flight. I'm not sure what it is Aya wants, what his motives are. Last night, when I was exhausted and in pain and disturbingly out of control, all I could think of was betrayal and fear. Now, in the daylight, standing eye to eye with him, I'm still not sure of the reasons behind any of his actions, but I am more convinced that they might not be as warped and horrible as I'd first assumed.  
  
Aya sighs, softly, snapping my wayward wandering wonderings (how's that for mental alliteration) back to the now.  
  
"I don't know why." He answers my previously asked question. "Because I was-" He shuts his mouth, face tightening, looking away.  
  
"You were what?" I press, curiously. The fact that he's even attempting to articulate any explanation at all bodes heavily in my favor. I back up; still watching his closed off face, until the back of my legs hit the couch. I wriggle back in relaxation as my none-too-steady legs are finally relieved of my weight. Years of injuries and scars have taught me the better parts of bearing and ignoring pain, but the physical and the mental don't always follow the same limits.  
  
He hesitantly follows my lead, sitting next to me. His twists great handfuls of his drawstring pants in that somewhat familiar nervous gesture. Now we're straying into dangerous territory. It's a known fact that Aya simply doesn't DO the emotional thing.  
  
Without thinking, I leave off on my own hair and start to carefully stroke Aya's scarlet head instead. He jumps, then calms, leaning into my touch like a diffident stray, cautious but still wanting some reassurance. I leave off the smoothing motions and rub the back of his neck, drawing hope from the slight relaxing of the lines of his shoulders.  
  
Gods, this is normally the point in despair and emotional and mental weariness where I'd run out to find another human being to drown my temporary misery in. What is it I'M doing here exactly? Maybe I should be interrogating myself before I go after Aya. I remind myself that he initiated every single action taken, from the very beginning. Even before I was captured, every rule of the game was his.  
  
Aya leans forward, curling in on himself, resting elbows on knees. "I guess I just saw you being tired and hurt and lonely, and thought maybe I could do something about it. Most of the hostility between us... It's not your doing. I just figured maybe I should try doing something decent for once. It didn't quite turn out the way I'd planned." His head sags even further forward.  
  
"You weren't trying to use me for something?" I inquire archly, still a tad suspicious by nature.  
  
"Perhaps as an alleviation of my own stupidly human emotions."  
  
I sigh. If he feels that way about his own thoughts and patterns of behavior then what the hell must he think of me.  
  
We sit side by side, completely withdrawn from each other. Isn't this where we always wind up? No matter what happens, by the end of it, Aya and I aren't speaking or acknowledging each other's presence.  
  
I draw in a slow breath until my ribs start to protest and let it out even more slowly, air shuddering out of me. I'm definitely a creature of habit, but all this strife is starting to wear me down. I scoot forward, resting my forehead against his slumped shoulder. After a moment's hesitation, he relaxes slightly and reaches over to curl his hand around my calf, still leaning heavily forward.  
  
Aya inhales once and then sits up, grasp on my leg letting go. "I should probably recheck your injuries." He states, more to himself than to me. "In all likelihood I managed to damage them inadvertently." He stands in one swift move, not meeting my eyes, looking away from me, in fact.  
  
He extends a hand to help me to my feet. I consider brushing it away out of pride, and then stop. Damn, but I'm tired. A hand up would be a welcome assistance right now. I clasp his warm, dry palm and heave myself to my feet. If he wants to poke at my already sore side and whatnot, that's his business. I just want some food and some peace.  
  
"When will Ken be back with food, I wonder?" I murmur tiredly. "And clothes as well."  
  
"You don't find my pants to be suitable attire?" Aya fires back, sounding insulted.  
  
I look over to offer some apology, some excuse. He's almost smiling. For Aya, that's as good as a bold faced grin. I smile back. "Even more than clothes, food, or even you jabbing your fingers into already sore parts of my body, I'd love a nice, long, hot shower." I sigh happily, thinking of obsessively clean weeks of fun to come.  
  
Aya pauses, a tiny crease between his eyebrows. "I thought you had a thing about water now." Not meant as a mockery of unwanted fears, merely a puzzled inquiry into an issue of which he has no understanding.  
  
I lower my eyelids, consider tucking away one of my current vulnerabilities, pause. "I don't like water deep enough to drown in. I never have, and these past few weeks... just haven't done anything to lessen that dislike. A shower is standing, and the water is constantly draining. All I want is to be clean. I've missed that."  
  
"You know, all it takes to drown is a spoon full of water. The trick is getting it into your lungs." Aya feels the need to indulge me in this happy little fact.  
  
"Are you suggesting I give up bathing? Perhaps I can have myself dry-cleaned from now on." I teasingly suggest, feigning a lighter attitude.  
  
Aya has no reply for my teasing.  
  
"Well, where could I find a towel for myself, then? I don't know where anything is kept in this house. Hell, do we even own towels?" I ask, my memories of the night before are foggy at best.  
  
With his typical grace, he stretches out an arm and places his hand palm down against my right side, resting over some of the more painfully broken ribs, covering the ugly blackish bruises. It feels almost odd, all that heat concentrated in one spot, solid skin behind the warmth. He frowns, lifting his other hand to my forehead.  
  
"Your skin is too warm. Do you feel fevered?" He peers into my eyes. "Your eyes aren't all unfocused like they get when you're very ill, but you still seem to have a bit of a fever."  
  
How would HE know what my eyes look like when I'm sick? "Why does it matter if I have a high temperature?" I ask aloud, feeling he's merely searching for issues to trouble himself with now.  
  
"I don't want anything to become infected, and it could also be a sign of serious internal damage."  
  
"Why do you worry so much? I don't feel that bad at all, and I wouldn't know from experience, but I'm assuming that life-threatening internal bleeding would hurt just a tiny bit more." I pat him reassuringly on the shoulder. "Now, about those towels..."  
  
I follow him up the stairs, both of us keeping quiet to avoid waking Omi. He stops and grabs a towel for me from a small closet off the hallway before stopping in front of the bathroom door, handing me the towel carefully, as if the weight will be too much for me. I consider making one of my usual smart-assed comments, but refrain, figuring maybe we should both cut each other a little slack now, at least until one of us knows what the hell is going on.  
  
Aya pauses, starts to open his mouth to say something, pauses again. My eyebrows draw together as I wait for whatever it is he wants to say. I resist the urge to draw up one of my old smirks, wondering if he wants to invite himself along. He brushes his knuckles across my cheek before escaping back into the confines of his room, nothing said to me at all in the end. I shrug, pushing the door open and feeling the wall for a light switch.  
  
Here's another room that doesn't look the slightest bit eerie or ominous in the daylight. The walls are paneled wood, like the entirety of the downstairs, excepting the kitchen; like Aya's room. I drape my towel over the back of the spotless new toilet, scrounging around for soap and shampoo. On the edge of the whirlpool tub. The shower fixture is on the wall above it. Hmm, an octagonal tub with a showerhead. How odd. Someone's even set up a shower curtain so none of the water will splatter out.  
  
I turn on the hot, kicking away the pale blue pants while I wait for the heated water to replace the cold. I scratch irritably at my head. Yeah, my hair's clean, but it could be cleaner. I try not to shudder. Now that I'm standing here dwelling on it, suddenly every inch of me seems streaked and filthy again. I step under the spray, adding just enough cold to keep it from scalding my skin, gritting my teeth against the still too hot water. No, it's not healthy, I'm not too stupid to know that, but now that the idea's fixed in my mind, being scrubbed raw and spotless seems pretty nice.  
  
Time to concentrate on using up most of a bar of soap, finally leaving off to attend to my hair when my skin starts to redden. My poor ribs don't like either the steaming water OR my abrasive cleansing. I have a feeling some parts of me will regret this later. I couldn't find any conditioner, so now I just make do, scrubbing up lather with the cheap shampoo for all it's worth.  
  
Someone bangs on the door. I tense for a second, then remember that not only is this my bathroom right now, but the door is locked and no one can bother me.  
  
"Youji! Are you still in there using up all our hot water? Come out and eat! I got clothes for you too; I'll leave the bag outside your door." There's the faint thud of something against the wooden floor, followed by his steps bounding off. How does he manage to make so much noise?  
  
My hand blindly scrabbles for the faucet as I fully immerse my body in the still painful heated water one more time. The air feels cooler, more bearable on my skin. I wring out what water I can from my hair, drying off my body with the new, soft towel before borrowing the brush I see next to the sink. I trace patterns in the fogged over mirror, grimacing at what bits of my body I slowly reveal.  
  
Not only do I feel like the victim of some sort of domestic abuse, but I damned well look like it. Either that or the "I'm going to beat your ass" brigade showed up to air their grievances. Wrapping the towel firmly around my waist, I quickly open the door, scoop up the large brown paper shopping bag from outside my old room, and dart back behind the closed door before the warm air can escape.  
  
Once I've carefully slathered gallons of goop back on my various burns and abrasions, I shuffle through everything. I see nothing but black, some leather/pleather type stuff, I'm unsure as to whether it's really made of genuine dead animal or not, some denim, a few nice knit tops for me. Normally the exposed abdomen is my sort of signature look, but right now I'm wishing he'd just bought a few concealing burlap sacks for me. The last thing I want showing now is a big swath of my reddened, bruised skin.  
  
I sigh. He bought me plaid boxers. I shake my head. Gods, at least they don't have little soccer balls all over them, or Hello Kitty, perhaps. I pull on a pair in spite of my initial dislike of the undergarments. Follow them up with some pants, loose enough to be comfortable, barely. I should have told him to buy me old hobo clothes, perhaps a flowered muumuu or something tasteful like that.  
  
Shirt, damn, need a shirt that doesn't let everyone get a few more looks at how bad my ribs look. I root around, finally finding a sleeveless black shirt. It reaches my waistband in the back and sides, at least. Still leaves my stomach showing, but less bruises there than a few places I could count.  
  
I pick up the sack by it's cord handles, exit the bathroom, hesitate before dropping the bag next to Aya's closed door, and then head down for some food. I can smell it before I even put my bare foot on the first step. I hurry down, just the scent alone rejuvenating me.  
  
Aya's sitting cross-legged in the empty room between the living room and the room that hosted our little make-out section. He has a plate in one hand, a fork in the other. I catch site of some scrambled eggs and waffles before I hurry past to the kitchen. There's a note on the microwave. From Ken. Apparently he made up a breakfast plate for me, and though it has cooled a bit, all I need to do is nuke it for a minute or two. I shrug and toss the note in the trashcan. And where is he then?  
  
I open the microwave door, examine the food heaped on my plate, poke it with my finger and find it to be only room temperature, at best. Hit the button and leave it for a few minutes.  
  
"Where did Ken run off to?" I inquire. Aya doesn't betray any reaction but the violet eyes that briefly meet mine before flickering back towards his food are startled.  
  
"Upstairs." He states, back to one word replies. Well... shit! There's a new matter for me to take care of. Gods, I just went through hell and back, and after a day or two of sleep, I'm essentially back to normal. What the hell could Aya possibly have under his belt to not only rival my recent experiences, but to surpass them and give him leave to behave in such a discouraging manner?  
  
"I'll be back in a few minutes." I tell him. "If I'm not back before the microwave beeps, could you grab my food for me and bring it out here so I can eat with you?" Without waiting for a reply, I climb back to the upper level, walking along the wall to avoid squeaking floor and stair boards.  
  
Ken's room is first; the door is open. Silently peeping around the doorframe I expect to startle him doing... I don't know, something, instead, he's not even there. The bathroom door is open, unoccupied, but across the hall, in Omi's room, I hear voices.  
I quietly tiptoe closer to Omi's door, peek around the doorframe. Omi's lying on his back, Ken crouched beside him, talking.  
  
"We lost possessions, that's it. Hell, at least we're all still alive." Ken reasons, eyes earnest and serious in that cute way of his.  
  
"Yeah, you're right." Omi sighs softly. "We didn't just loose our stuff though. We lost our home. That was where we lived; we were like a family. I thought we were all safe there. What's it all coming to if I can't even sleep at night without one eye open, and one hand on a fire extinguisher."  
  
I watch the pale golden blur that is Omi's face from a distance. The light hits him at such an angle that I can't even begin to make out his facial expressions. Hell, why should I be spying on them anyway? They're my teammates. They have no secrets I want to know, no privacies I want to invade. Well, excluding Aya, those rules apply. I start smiling off into space, thinking on my new topic. Ken's voice jolts me out of my gleeful reminiscing.  
  
"Omi, don't cry. Everything will turn out all right. We talked about this." He reaches down and brushes back pale hair from Omi's forehead. "Yeah, it seemed like a home, the first place that was like a home in a long while to most of us. It wasn't the building though. The building is gone, nothing but rubble. It was we four together who made it a home, an almost family. We're still together. Even Youji is still here. Maybe not in the best of shape, but still here."  
  
Omi pushes himself upright, blankets tangling around his legs. He presses his face against Ken's shoulder, muffling sniffles against the dark fabric of his t-shirt. Ken lets out a deeply held breath and wraps his arms around the slim shaking body.  
  
"I'm sorry." I strain to hear the younger boy's quite voice. "I'm just tired and I'm over reacting. We're all tired though, I can guarantee that." He pauses. "Ken, I want to go home." The words are bleaker than they should have the right to be, coming from someone to young and seemingly untouched by worldly evils.   
  
I'm feeling more than a little guilty. Yeah, I went through some pretty horrendous shit, even for me. That doesn't exempt the others from feeling anything either. They were actually there when our house was decimated. They were actually there. Omi especially, with his abandonment issues and the like, deserves a little more attention, at least until things settle down.  
  
I watch Ken tilt Omi's face upwards, expecting some hope-filled, big brother "I'm there for you" comment from him. Instead he lowers his face and starts up a kiss that would almost put all my carefully cultivated skills to shame. With Omi. I stare. What else can one do? "Sex" and "Omi" is even more foreign a pairing of words than "sex" and "Aya". Sex and Ran.  
  
I wait for Omi to push him away and demand an explanation. He doesn't; in fact, he seems more than comfortable with the situation. Being more than a little confused and shocked myself, I back down the hallway, deciding to be nice and give them their bizarre little 'alone' time.  
  
What the hell was that I just witnessed? Omi sure as hell didn't seem uncomfortable or suprised. Gods. I look back in Ken's room, giving myself something to do while I sort things out in my mind. His room is it's usual mess, but the bed is made. I hadn't noticed that before. Stupid me. That would explain how it is Omi and Ken arrived last night during the fight at the same time. If they were both in the same bedroom...  
  
But Omi? And Kissing? And sex? Those just don't mix in my mind. Hell, he's not a kid anymore, I know that as a fact, but it doesn't really register all the way. I still think of him as that wide-eyed child I first met. I sigh and lean against the wall, the desire for a cigarette overwhelming. I consider going down and accosting Aya and making him go and buy me a fresh new dose of my old addiction. Hell, cigarettes may give you cancer and lots of other crappy side effects, it may affect your entire level of fitness, but as for combating stress me, I can't think of anything that works even the tiniest bit better, except perhaps Valium...  
  
So, Ken's in there smooching with the kid, yet I was worried he'd walk in on Aya and I doing almost the same thing. I rub at my eyes. My stomach growls. I take a deep breath and do the Youji-type thing to do. I just tell myself none of this happened, and I head downstairs to eat. It's easier to ignore problems, I find.  
  
Aya glares balefully at me as I silently make my way back to him. I wonder what I've done this time.  
  
"Your food is cold now, and I won't reheat it for you." He states churlishly.  
  
I smile at his unhappy face; relieved it's nothing more. Time to eat and to NOT think about whatever the hell was and is going on upstairs. I sit down cross-legged, not quite touching Aya's knees with mine. He shifts uncomfortably but doesn't move away. Encouraged I scoot forward the few remaining inches. Yes, I do thrive on pressing my luck, now that you mention it.  
  
"You're in my space." He informs me, not moving, staring down at me. Down, because I'm slumping over, trying to help my battered spine and all. I smile back chummily, ignoring him and gulping down lukewarm scrambled eggs like there's not tomorrow. I'm not up to playing the starvation game at this time.  
  
"You. Are. In. My. Space." He repeats, uncomfortable and expecting poor, injured, little ole me to do something about it. I swallow my mouthful of eggs, take a swig of the water Aya thoughtfully brought out for himself, to share with me no doubt, and lean forward, enthusiastically plastering him with a big, in-your-face kiss. Startled, he kisses back, knocking over his mostly empty plate.  
  
It only takes him a few minutes this time to figure out I'm playing him like a fiddle. It's hard for him to be angry with me if my tongue is busy running across his lower lip, to say the least. When he decides enough is enough, he pulls away, fingers gripping large handfuls of my hair, threatening me with baldness if I feel the need to move towards him.  
  
"Am I still in your space?" I glibly jibe, against my better judgment. Aya grunts and lets go of my hair, absently smoothing it back into place. He turns his eyes downwards. Apparently we're going back to the "pretend Youji doesn't exist" delusion. Yipee, yay.  
  
"You don't have to ignore me." I mutter, feeling like I'm about to start talking too much in all this silence, exactly how Aya wants me to feel, I'm assuming. I go back to stuffing my face, backing off. Even I can figure out that running headlong into a cement wall for a long while isn't good for you. He'll warm up to me again later.  
  
I finish eating, not really tasting the food in my haste to cram it all into my empty stomach. I shouldn't have eaten so much so quickly. I know I'll regret it in just a bit. Beside me, he rises to his feet with more grace than I'll be able to muster for a long time coming. He takes my plate, stacks it on top of his, and ruffles my hair on his way by in an almost affectionate way.  
  
A reluctant grin spreads over my face. Gods, but he's an odd one. I follow after him. What else is there to do? I have nowhere to go, nothing to do. Nothing to do except amuse myself with my red headed teammate that is.  
  
Washing dishes like a good little neat freak. I still haven't lost that reluctant smile. I loop my arms around him from behind, not because I need the support or attention, just because I feel like it. The desire to feed off of someone else's attention is definitely a big part of that.  
  
Essentially nothing is making sense to my perpetually frazzled mind right now, but hey, that's okay. After his initial, startled jump, Aya doesn't even waste breath protesting. He leans slightly back against me, still washing dishes. This is... nice. It really is. Almost domestic, I'd call it.  
  
"So, how badly would you maim me if I asked for some more details on this whole 'my name is Ran and I have a sister' thing?" He stiffens in my loose hug, but I don't back down an inch.  
  
"Pretty badly." He flatly states. End of story. Gods, how horrible of him! Riling up my curiosity and then just refusing to continue with the issue. How like him.  
  
"So, my calling you Ran would automatically guarantee me a black eye?" I try to set down boundaries. Being the master of relationships that I am, I obviously can see the inevitability of this one. And why not? We all have lonely, painful lives; we isolate ourselves from the real world if we can. Maybe Ken and Omi had the right idea, and gods know I could sure as hell do with some good old fashioned sex right now.  
  
He slams the second clean dish down on the rack, pushes my arms away and whirls around. I expect some angry comments, or at least one of his infamous death glares. Instead he pushes me back against the white, new fridge and proceeds to take my breath away. Mmm, now this, I could get used to. He's harsh, almost brutal, expressing how much my usage of his real name would irk him with his mouth instead of his fist.  
  
I fight back, tongue wrestling for dominance. He's either picked up some skill from me already, or had it beforehand and was just too nervous to show me the fun way. I press forward, mouth still locked to his, almost completely caught up in the play of wet tongues against teeth and lips. I can faintly taste the syrup from his breakfast.  
  
When I walk him back far enough that his lower spine connects with the table, he pulls away, unsettled by the intensity of it all. He's out of breath, lips flush and little swollen. I can't help myself; I swoop back down for another kiss. His lips are parted before I even have to do anything, drawing me into the heated cavity of his mouth. Gods, could he be any more desirable? I think not.  
  
It's beyond easy, in the heat of the moment and distracted as he is, to start bending him over, onto the table, weight coming off his feet as it distributes itself between the slab of wood and me. I release his lower lip; we breathe into each other's mouths.  
  
"If this is what I get," I murmur, out of breath, "then I'll have to bring up taboo topics more often." I don't give him a chance to reply.  
  
Sitting all the way on the table now, his hips slide forward, meeting mine; legs hooked around my waist as I tilt his head back and attack his neck with the only non-lethal weapon I have on me. I can feel the shudder running through him as I set my teeth to his neck, setting off pleasure points galore.  
  
He moans my name of all things, perhaps less uncomfortable then I'd previously assumed. I can only be thankful he never bothered to put a shirt on, focusing on pale pink nipples, my current obsession. I thrill to the feel of the rough puckered flesh under my tongue, thrill to his throaty moans, do my damnedest to wring more out of him simply from the motions of my hips.  
  
Panting for breath, I look up, keeping up the steady pulse on the heat between his legs. His head is thrown back, long, elegant neck exposed, eyes turned to dark slashes. I give in to the breathless grin before sealing my mouth to his skin, sucking on the hollow of his throat, sliding to the side to nip at his collarbones.  
  
"Gods, you are beautiful." I whisper harshly in his ear, nibbling on one pale, perfect ear lobe. He shivers, turning his head to catch my lips with his; he leans back, propping up his body on his elbows, hips thrust up and forward, rocking against mine.  
  
Now, what a pretty picture. I wonder if he has any idea how much I would enjoy peeling every last article of clothing off of him and taking him right here on the table.  
  
"Mmm. Not on the table." Aya gasps back, perhaps gleaning my thoughts from my expression, trying to regain some modicum of self-possession.  
  
"Why not? It's as good a place as any. Ken and Omi are upstairs, and trust me, they won't be back down for a long while." I think of those two, getting a hell of a lot more action than I'd been up until this moment.  
  
For a second, his eyes tell me he's going to give in, tilt his face up, and spread his legs a little wider, unable to stop once the doors of reserve have been broken down. Then the curtain comes back down. Shit. I shouldn't have ever tried to start up a dialogue. Aya doesn't like talking period, let alone talking while I'm thoroughly molesting him.  
  
He wriggles away from me, off the table, stomping towards the doorway. I consider tearing out a few handfuls of my hair. All I want is to get laid, is that sooo much to ask. It's not like Aya doesn't want it. It's not like he wasn't frustrating enough before he started up with behavior like this.  
  
Aya turns to look over his shoulder and adds as an afterthought, "While the table is off limits..."  
  
Aya. Hinting at something? Aya? Hinting at something possibly obscene and erotic? Obviously the world is not only coming to an end, but my mind is going to shatter, and I'll leak brain matter all over the kitchen floor.  
  
Aya's still in sight, slowly, mockingly sauntering away. The son of a bitch! He's asking for it. I dash after him.  
  
He turns to meet me as I near, an almost smirk on his face. He wants to turn this into a competition, that's fine by me. He sinks down onto the couch, every inch of his body straining upwards, trying to prolong the kiss. I straddle his lap, rocking in a way I know will get more than just a positive reaction. Repetition doesn't matter, it's not the variety of it all, it's the sensation that matters.  
  
We slide down; I concentrate on retaining my position on top. He's pliant and more than willing to let me do whatever it is I feel the need to. Hell, if either Ken or Omi came down the stairs right now, with us right in front of the last step, I still wouldn't be willing to stop. Let them watch, I've been waiting for this for a long while, hours at least.  
  
He breathily whispers encouragements as I slide down, kisses fluttering across his chest, then stomach. He sucks his stomach in as my tongue probes his navel. His fingers pluck at handfuls of the couch, unsure as to whether it tickles or feels unbearably delicious.  
  
No sounds but for the hushed pleading and rhythm of our rapidly speeding breathing, the whisper of skin against skin. Mouths war with no purpose but the furthering of pleasure, tongues seek heated flesh, sensitive hollows; hands devour the opposing flesh under their fingertips.  
  
He shivers as my hands dip bellow the waist of his pants. "Youji, wait." His hands catch my wrists. I try to calm the racing of my heart, gods; he's going to do it to me again. I keep still, waiting for my dismissal, waiting for a chance to rage at him to push back disappointment and arousal.  
  
"If we don't slow down, I won't be able to stop." He whispers in my ear, sending another pang of pleasure through me, setting off a string of lovely mental visual. "I'm NOT going to get into this on the couch where anyone could just show up, especially not if it might cause you more injury." A hint of the ice is back in his voice.  
  
"Upstairs?" I offer hopefully, prepared to be rebuked, but pushing for it all the same.  
  
He worries my lower lip between his teeth, train of thought lost. "Mmmhmm, definitely take this upstairs." He pushes his tongue into my mouth, effectively silencing any other irksome comments I may have had.  
**************  
Well, happy little boys and girls (prolly mostly just girls though -_-), can we guess what will happen next? I'll give you a hint, it begins with an L, and it took me a $*&#ing long time to write it! Stick around! Yeah, and write me a damned e-mail as well! akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare Yay for variety. People like to have choices, right? 


	8. Chapter Eight

Well, reader-type persons, you certainly have put up with a lot to get to this part! WOOT WOOT WOOOOOOOOT!!!!!! -whirls about wildly and throws scarves and confetti into the air- LEMON TIME FOR GOOD LITTLE GIRLS AND UHM... oh damn... I don't have any guys reading this, do I? Well, good little girls and girls then. Blarg. Lemon Yay!  
**************  
I tumble him back onto the mattress on his floor, pouncing without a second thought. Damn, but it was hard getting up those stairs, hard to break off all those long, exploring kisses, even harder not to take him on the floor right in front of Omi's now closed door, right on the smooth wood of the hallway.  
  
He arches into my every touch, breathlessly pausing to inquire about the state of the door.  
  
"Do you really think I'd forget to lock it?" I laugh, going back to his stomach. There's always that first reflexive jump of skin and muscle when my mouth and hands first brush flesh. My fingers hook in the waistband of his drawstring pants again. I glance up, mouth still fluttering a line from hipbone to hipbone.  
  
I consider taking the time to nab one last verbal consent from him, think of Aya's not-so-great reactions to conversations, and decide, screw verbal consent. Hell, screw Aya. A very nice proposal indeed.  
  
I follow the glide of cotton down his legs with the caress of my palms. I didn't know skin could feel this warm, this absolutely soft and real. Muscles tense as I feather kisses over the insides of those incredibly long thighs. Talk about a turn on.  
  
He sits up, gorgeous stomach muscles bunching. He pulls me forward by my hair. Every inch of his skin slides against mine; sensation interfered only by the clothing I haven't had time to remove from my person yet. His fingers catch the zipper to my sleeveless shirt as his tongue pushes past my lips. I prop myself up over him with one hand, the other working the fly of my pants. Gods, I just want out of these clothes and into him.  
  
He throws the dark garment on the floor as soon as he separates it from my torso, turning to help me shimmy out of the loose pants. He winces in sympathy, looking at the bruising, the shower stiffened bandages around my wrists and across my lower back that I never bothered to remove.  
  
I sigh, more than happy to push him back down onto the still made up matress, to take my time exploring every inch of his body. How could one being be so perfect, I wonder as I worship his flesh with my hands, with my mouth?  
  
Nuzzling down his warm skin, I return to the junctions of his thighs, blowing a stream of cool air over his heated engorged flesh, deliberately teasing him. He arches under my touch, biting back sounds of want. I wrap my hand around his upright member, starting up a slow rhythm, taking a few moments to watch his face, watch him give in, give up. He rocks up into my hold, my grip slick from spreading precum.  
  
His hands reach out blindly, I cradle one in my palms, leaving off with my previous actions, sucking gently on one slim, pale finger, swirling my tongue around, showing him all the things I could do to other parts of his body. He lies, pliant, malleable under my ministrations. Gods, the rush of power. I can do whatever I want to him, as long as I approach it all correctly. The thought itself is intoxicating. Aya, completely under my power. What more could a guy ask for?  
  
He gasps as I cut right to the chase, bending and taking him into my mouth. Gods, smooth as silk, twice as hot. His hips unconsciously push upwards, "Youji!" My name on his lips making me hotter than hell, I concentrate on making this well worth his while. Even with the cute little bisexual thing going on, I really am a hell of a lot better at receiving rather than giving blowjobs. Oh well, everyone has one area with room for improvement. I concentrate on pulling him deeper into the warm cavern of my mouth, applying suction, alternately speeding and slowing, deliberately ignoring the needy hands wrapped around hanks of my hair.  
  
"Mmm." He twists his head back and forth, still trying to buck up into my mouth, trying to strain for the ever nearing release. I mentally smirk, wallowing in the sweetness of victory. I let my teeth gently rake over sensitive skin, swallowing to control the gag reflex as I take him further, brushing the back of my throat, listening to his harsh breathing, feeling his body shudder under mine, desperate.  
  
I draw back, lashing my tongue over the tip one more time. My eyes dart up to wet, parted lips. I consider; lean forward, claiming them with my own, letting him taste the salt of his skin in the recesses of my mouth. He pulls me down on top of him without a second thought; legs wind around mine, resuming the rocking motions, rubbing his cock against mine, and oh gods... friction... how I love thee.  
  
His fingers slide down, grabbing my bottom, pulling me closer, harder, his attack on my mouth slacking as his attention is drawn elsewhere, a problem I don't have. Mmm, years of practice can help out in some areas at least. Determined to draw this out and drive him absolutely crazy, I swirl my tongue around his ear, deliberately letting out a shuddery moan, knowing all about the shivers he feels running down his spine.  
  
His eyes meet mine as he twists towards me, nothing but pure, desperate want. He whispers my name again; he's quickly turning it into my new favorite word. I decide I've had enough of this frenzied, awkward foreplay, honestly cannot keep it up much longer. I mentally apologize to him even as I'm steadily shifting control in my direction, pushing him down.  
  
His hand snaps up, catches hold of my wrist, pulling my palm away from his chest. He meets my unsteady gaze. "Who says you get to be top." Nothing but challenge. I grin, watching the corner of his mouth twitch upwards, in reply.  
  
I grab his wrists, twisting his torso partially to the side, knocking him off balance, pinning his arms over his head. He tries to work his way loose. I smile again, rubbing against him, luxuriating in this mixture of aggression and submission.  
  
"I have dibs on top." I whisper against his skin. I ride out another round of his struggling, knowing he's not trying as hard as he could, either to avoid injuring me, or because he simply doesn't want to get loose that badly. I've got my fingers crossed for option number two.  
  
He finally gives in, arching up only to catch my mouth, murmuring something sarcastic against my lips. Victory for the Youji, and damn, would I ever be grateful for at least one thing going my way for the first time in a rather long while.  
  
He tries to hide apprehensive violet eyes, things not so firmly under his control anymore, a precarious position for him. "Shh. It's okay." I whisper, leaning over, soothing away any surface concerns with my mouth, sucking on his tongue, kissing closed eyelids, shoulders. I replace my tongue with my fingers, teasing Aya's lips before letting them slip into his mouth. His eyes crinkle a hint of an amused smile.  
  
After a few blissful moments I retrieve my wet digits, reclaim those lips with my own. I can feel him tense up again as I first brush his opening with one damp finger.  
  
"Mm, what are you doi-uhnnn!" Mumbled against my mouth, uncertain, still aroused and desperate for this to keep going.  
  
"Shh. It's okay." I repeat, broken-record like. "This'll be nice, I promise. Relax." His back arches as my first finger slides in, tightening around me. "Mmm. Gods, you're tight." Unbidden, the words fall from my lips. I bite his lower lip, drawing his attention back to me. At the same time I move my finger, effectively knocking him off balance, physically and mentally.  
  
I slide in a second finger, searching for that elusive spot, if I could just show him what I mean. He arches up again.  
  
"Uhn!" I muffle his cry, mimicking the actions of my fingers with my tongue. He pushes back towards my impaling digits, trying for a repeat of that sensation. I've got him now, right where I want him. He further proves this for me, moaning deep in his throat, shuddering as I add a third finger to the mix. If this were anyone by Aya, he'd be begging by now.  
  
I twist my fingers, rubbing against his prostate, giving him a little more time to adjust, a little more time for me to go thoroughly insane with the waiting. He tightens almost painfully around me and I can't wait anymore. Can't even think anymore.  
  
He spreads his legs for me without a single qualm on his lips, in his eyes. Breath shuddering in and out unbearably fast, I nudge forward, knowing absolute heaven is just a single thrust away. Aya watches my face, excruciatingly unreadable. I just barely see the flash of trepidation as it passes across his features.  
  
I lean forward, whispering against his lips as I ease into the slick, tight heat that is purely Aya. His body tries to tense up around me, fighting the unexpected intrusion. I think I could honestly die like this.  
  
"It's okay. Won't hurt you. I'll make you feel so good. It's all oka-Uhnnn-" He tightens around me unexpectedly, I halt all motion, all words, as he forces his muscles to relax as best he can, trembling intoxicatingly around me. I wait until his forehead is smooth again before I pull back.  
  
I wonder if it would be acceptable to weep now. Nothing could possibly be so absolutely right, so absolutely perfect and so unerringly meant for me. I arch my back; burrowing my face into his shoulder as I concentrate on making him moan my name, concentrate on lasting however long he does.  
  
Coherency rapidly dissolves from here on. Nothing matters but the play of tongue on flesh, the slide of skin against velvet-slick skin, the harsh breaths gasped right in my ear, the whispered pleas, desires he won't voice out loud. Nothing matters but burying myself time and time again in his body, arching to hit that spot, just to hear him cry out, to feel him writhing under me like sex playing dress up in human skin.  
  
He comes seconds before the last of my control gives out, clenching down around me, fingers trying to rake new paths down my back through thick bandages. I know my fingers bruise his skin as I give in, body strung tight with much needed release, pleasure starbursts going off behind my eyes, but I can't help it anymore than he can help the moan-muffling teeth that he sinks into my shoulder.  
  
I hover above him, arm muscles quivering under the weight of my body, collapsing down onto my elbows. A pink tongue slips out between dry lips to sooth the deep imprints on my shoulder. The only apology I'll receive. The only apology I need. His hands push back damp hair from my face. I kiss his warm lips, the inside of his mouth cool from all those open-mouthed pants.  
  
"Okay?" I inquire with the little energy I have left to my control.  
  
One nod answers my question, his eyes falling exhaustedly shut for a moment. I grit my teeth and pull out of him, both of us grimacing simultaneously. I feather kisses across his face, easing onto my side, still pressing my skin to his. Here comes the moment of importance. Either Aya will stay, or he'll hustle to get back into his clothes and escape to somewhere very far away from me. I can never really predict what he'll do or why he'll do it.  
  
"Alright Aya?" I ask again.  
  
"Aya is my sister's name," he says a tad roughly. "Don't call me that when you fuck me. Ran." When you fuck me. As if he means to do this more than once. My lips spread in yet another smug smile. Why shouldn't I smile? I'm not JUST the cat who ate the canary; I'm also the canary with a death-wish, not to mention the next door neighbor who's wanted the damned bird dead for eons. I just go laid, for the first time in a while, I'm not in that much pain, he told me to call him Ran, and he's still here, warm and real beside me.  
  
"Ran." I try the name out on my tongue, resting my head against his shoulder, feeling his heart beating against my side. "Do you think it's too early for a nap?" I close my eyes.  
  
"Shut up." Comes the equally worn out reply. I stay awake until his breath finally slows and then deepens next to me. He's actually planning on staying here and sleeping next to me. Life is good.  
  
It's the lessening of body heat that finally wakes me up. I haphazardly rake my hair away from my eyes, peering around the room. Neither the window's illumination, nor my eyes happen to light upon a certain belligerent redhead's form. I can't say that I'm surprised. It wouldn't be realistic to expect him to hang around an uncomfortable situation without prompting. I wasn't awake to go after him with a cattle prod, so he's up and escaped. Joy.  
  
His clock tells me I've probably only slept for a few hours. Gods, I need to stop all this. I haven't slept so much since... I can't even think of a time. I know I need to heal up and all, but I'm sort of busy, and being awake is one of the few surefire ways I know of getting things done. Speaking of things to get done, my stomach is making the most bizarre noises. It's nice to be hungry. I wonder if anyone's gone shopping yet, or if I'll have to risk embarrassment by hauling Ken up and out of Omi's room.  
  
I pull my clothes back on, stiff bandages still clinging to my skin. I'll take care of those when I actually care. I don't spy a brush lying out on any of the available surfaces of his room. I make do with a quick finger comb. No one who hasn't already seen me at my worst will be around. They'll get over the shock.  
  
Unbearably cheerful laughter grates on my nerves as soon as I leave Aya's room. Guess I won't have to be waking anyone up. They're not old and decrepit like I am; I guess they don't need to nap after they- Gah! No more Omi/Sex thoughts shall pass through my mind. I close my eyes and will them all away. Never let it be said that I am a pedophile.  
  
"Well, a good afternoon to you two sickeningly perky children." I greet Omi and Ken.  
  
"I haven't been a child for years on end." Ken responds, hastily shuffling away from Omi's personal space. Apparently I surprised them in the middle of something I refuse to think about due to one of the parties involved. I smirk. I still have to repay Ken for his frequent interruptions to my attempted seduction this morning. Not too "attempted" in the end, despite Ken's bunging. My smile widens almost to the point of painful.  
  
"You appear to be pretty happy for one who looks as much like crap as you do." He tacks on as a last though, a further attempt to curry my favor. Note, by all means, my sarcasm. Heh. I love that line.  
  
I look around. "Where the hell has Aya run off to this time?"  
  
"You don't know? Then your guess is as good as any I could venture. He came stomping down those stairs and out the door like a bat out of hell twenty minutes ago. I just figured you two had been arguing again. That's all you seem to do anymore." Omi sighs.  
  
I ruffle his hair, remembering his words from earlier. I promised myself I'd make an effort to be especially kind to him, and I'm going to do my best to do just that. "We just see things differently. They're not bad fights, just a hashing out of alternate views."  
  
Big blue eyes meet mine. "I didn't really get that impression last night." He looks down, away from me, from my well-meaning lies. "You both seemed plenty angry to me. I thought he was going to kill you."  
  
I put my hand on the kid's shoulder, ignoring Ken's possessive bristling. He has nothing to worry about from me. He should know that by now. "Omi, Sometimes things are just-"  
  
"I'm not a child." He looks up again, chin thrust out. "You don't want to talk about; you don't want me involved. I can take a hint. I'm also not dense. Just remember that Ken and I are both here if you need us."  
  
"How cozy looking." A leather-clad shoulder bumps me from behind.  
  
I whirl around. Aya's back again, looking as irked as ever. "Where the hell have you been?" I bite back the urge to grab him by his coat lapels and shake him.  
  
He carelessly throws a thick stack of papers down on the table. "Any and all easily garnered information about Meleeke Industries. Saved you some time by getting the simple first-step information." He's gone from the room as quickly as he arrived, leaving the scent of leather, rain and my shampoo behind. I'm not even going to ponder that last one.  
  
Omi raises one eyebrow, shooting me a knowing look. Kid isn't dense after all, is he? Though, Ken would have to be not to have figured out what exactly is going on between Aya and I. I sleep in his room now, we spent a good hour IN his room making loud noises that I'm sure could quite easily pass through the walls to the rest of the house, and we do nothing but argue. Sounds like an established relationship to me. I laugh out loud. I get nothing but odd looks in return. Ah, but no one truly understands the mind of the comically deranged anymore.  
  
"So, let's talk food, shall we?" I lean against the table, properly prepared to simply ignore the work Aya has put into avoiding me.  
  
- - - -  
  
My first trip out into the public is less trying than I'd thought it would be. I keep my newly acquired sunglasses on at all times. We head out to one of the nearest, bearable restaurants. We meant to pick up a coat for me first but hunger wins out yet again.  
  
When the waiter glides over to take our orders he brings the smell of cigarettes with him, wafting in on his wake from the Smoking Section. For a moment the old craving hits me so strongly my hands curl in on themselves, nails imprinting crescents on my palm.  
  
Aya elbows me none to gently in the ribs. I turn.  
  
"You'd better not be thinking about what I think you're thinking about." He flatly warns me, not bothered by how ridiculous that whole statement sounds.  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it, boss." I touch my fingertips to my forehead in false servitude. He doesn't press the issue and I hunch back into my seat. It was just a momentary rush of nostalgia. I wasn't about to go out and start again. I know that smoking is bad for me; I'm not that unintelligent. I'd just never been presented with a clear chance of quitting before. Two weeks, they said I was gone. Two weeks without a cigarette. Any need now would be merely mental. To purposefully cater to that weakness would blow any chance of a repeat of this morning with Aya, not to mention any other sort of civil interaction.  
  
I eat whatever it is they order for me. I wasn't up to making the decision and someone or another took the initiative on their own. I don't complain. It's edible. That's all I require as of now. I'll get more picky once I'm healed up and my taste buds stop being dominated by my lack of body mass.  
  
My plate is only partially empty when my stomach finally runs out of room. I'm nagged from all three sides, but not even Aya's infamous "Icy Glare of Death" can make me eat any more.  
  
"Gods, am I stuffed." I rest one of my hands on my stomach, disappointed to feel that it's still flat as can be. How much does a fellow have to eat to make it noticeable?  
  
Ken pays the bill. I wonder when I'll be able to nab some money from my own account. I don't like not having any currency on me at all. You never know when that could get you into a bind.  
  
"Can we get a hold of a coat for me next?" I quietly ask Aya, feeling guilty. Someone else will probably wind up paying for it. I hate being in debt. As soon as I have transportation and can actually move freely once again, my first goal will be to set things in order, from getting a new copy of my driver's license, to shopping for clothing by myself.  
  
Aya nods in reply to my request. "There's a department store just down the way. We'll walk over so we don't have to try to find parking again."  
  
Omi looks over. "If you're walking over, why don't Ken and I go and get groceries. Knowing Youji, you'll be in there forever!" He laughs.  
  
I shrug. "Sounds good to me." I watch as the two bounce happily out. Omi grabs Ken's hand as soon as they think they're out of sight. I smile, looking over at Aya, unsure as to what his reaction may be. He's not paying the slightest bit of attention. Lucky for them, I guess.  
  
The wind hits me once again as we too step outside. Things just went and got colder for me during my imprisonment. I hate winter. I hate being cold. There's nothing to do but wrap my arms around my torso and try to keep from visibly shivering. It's that horrible, bitter cold that makes you just want to hold still and curl up in a ball because you're too cold and too tired to move.  
  
Aya looks over. He sighs once, pulls his own trench coat off and drapes it over my shivering shoulders. Unable to help myself, I immediately slip my arms into the sleeves, intent on trying to thaw out as much of my body as I can. Heat from his body is trapped in the soft inner lining. I smile.  
  
He's frowning down at the ground. I stop smiling. "Look, if you want the coat back, all you have to do is say so," I snap. If he's going to start pretending to be nice and then being an asshole about it, I want no part of it.  
  
Puzzled heliotrope eyes look over, the crease right between his eyes deepening. "I don't want the coat back. You're the cold one." I could insert a few statements about him being the 'cold' one, personality wise and all that jazz, but I find I don't really feel like it.  
  
"Why the hell are you scowling like that then?" I speed up my pace to catch up with his hurried strides.  
  
"I'm not scowling," he says, scowling in my direction.  
  
I blink once and drop the issue. Neither one of us speaks another word for the remaining two blocks it takes us to reach the store. Sears. They want me to buy a coat in Sears? Not exactly my sort of store. I prefer more, how do I put this, trendy places of commerce? Sears is where you go if you want to go shopping for, well, regular clothes, for regular people.  
  
"Do we have to-"  
  
"Beggars can't be choosers." Aya cuts me off. Okay then.  
  
The coat selection isn't as bad as I'd figured it'd be, but there certainly aren't any replacements for my old lovely jacket. I grimace at Aya. "I have an idea. You give me your coat, and YOU buy a new one. You're so keen on shopping here..."  
  
No reply. I grab the first black pea coat I can find in my size, the closest I can come to a tolerable replacement. He pays; I mentally remind myself of the price so I can reimburse him later.  
  
No car waiting in front of the store for us. Guess I should have taken another half an hour or so. I slump down on an inside bench, close enough to watch the main entrance, but far enough not to get caught in the draft every time the door opens. Aya gingerly sits next to me, leaving plenty of room between us.  
  
"Hey, I don't bite." I laugh, pushing over next to him. Then, I remember the impressive teeth marks still imprinted on my shoulder and there's no stopping me. He watches while I chortle like a maniac, obviously not having the slightest idea what amuses me so. "Don't ask, and I won't tell you." I finally gasp out.  
  
Silence. Unable to think of any topic, I finally give voice to the only one lurking around the front of my mind. "So, how are you feeling? I'm sorry, I know I could have been a tad more gentle this morning, but you seem-"  
  
"Youji!" Exasperation. "This is neither the time nor the place."  
  
I look around. Not a soul in sight. I look back at Aya. "There's no one here!"  
  
"Wait until we're back at the house." He comes as close to a compromise as he's willing to make. It's my turn to sigh.  
  
"Are you angry at me?" I slide a little closer. What's the fun of being trapped in a department store with him if he won't even provide an hour's entertainment?  
  
"I will be if you keep talking." His face tightens. "Just give me some peace and quiet."  
  
My lower lip starts bleeding as I gnaw on it. "Sooo, what happened to all my money?" He can't possibly be as annoyed with this topic, even if I still am talking. I clarify after a few moments pass without a single hint of an answer. "They took my wallet, and I don't know whether or not they've managed to access my accounts. Is there any way I can check?"  
  
Grrr. What have I done now? He seems to have fallen back into his regular sullen and terse attitude. "Would it honestly cause you that much effort to reply?"  
  
I sound so childish. Petty. None of this is important. I just want to hear something out of him. Proof that he's not really angry with me. Excepting the coat incident, he's been nothing but outright unpleasant towards me. If he's regretting what we did this morning, then the least he can do is come out and say it. I'm tired of hidden grievances.  
  
We sit in hushed iciness. I watch him gradually widen the tiny hole in the right knee of his jeans into a fist-sized rip. How 'grunge' like. All he needs now is longer messy hair like mine, and a flannel shirt. More time passes, the tear widens.  
  
My hand appears over his without my conscious control. "You're going to wind up separating the bottom half of that pant leg from the top." I caution him, tired of watching him destroy his attire. "If you're bored, go buy a book or something, or at least start in on the other leg, so both knees match."  
  
He turns my hand over, tracing the calluses and lines that decorate my fingers and palms with his own fingertips. This is probably as close to a wordless apology as I'll most likely ever receive from Aya this time. He looks over, watching me watching him. I like that.  
  
A large parka squeezes onto the bench next to me, forcing Aya and I into each other, and him up against the other side of the bench. I growl, looking over my shoulder, back partially to this unwanted interloper. Apparently there's a person in this obnoxiously overstuffed parka. A pleasant, round face appears as the hood is pushed down. She pulls the jacket off and jams it the only bit of available space not taken up by her shopping bags, further mashing me into Aya. I know she's going to open her mouth and not shut up as soon as I see her. She doesn't disappoint me.  
  
"Well, what do you know? I've been looking for somewhere to sit for the past hour or two. It's never too early to start shopping for the upcoming holiday season." She informs me cheerily. I could just as cheerfully strangle her to death. Just when Aya was finally starting to warm up to me again... "And then I saw you two lads on this here bench, and I thought to myself, Ethel, I'm sure they won't mind if little ole you takes a sit down right next to them. My god, but have you felt the weather outside, it's so cold I'm always expecting to likely freeze to death. My god, but it's a bad time to live outside the city limits, and even worse to have all your pipes freezing up all the time. You wouldn't believe the horrendous mess a burst pipe made down in my basement. You know, the pipe came from the toilet, you know. It sprayed all over. What a stink! Whew!" She prattles on.  
  
I make big eyes at Aya, silently asking for help. He looks down, looks up again through dark lashes, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. For a moment everything fades out of sight and out of mind but him. If he isn't the most stunning thing I've seen in a long while, I'll kill the annoying woman sitting next to me right now. She rants some more in my direction. I decide to kill her anyway.  
  
"You boys are awfully quite! Go ahead, speak up." She then proceeds to continue right on talking, not really interested in either of us speaking up anyway. I wonder what I could come up with to say that wouldn't be blatantly inappropriate? "The most hilarious thing happened to me the other day. My husband was out the other day, and I invited my neighbor and his wife over. Her name's Wilma, a good old name for a good old girl. She's been having problems with her bowels, don't you know? And her husband, Merv, he comes on over with her. And Merv's a little deaf, so he comes on over with his wife Wilma. He sits down in the parlor on one of my best chairs, don't you know. And he's a little deaf, so he doesn't hear me hollering away. Oh, I had been accidentally locked downstairs at that time, did I forget to mention that? Anyway, Wilma keeps asking Merv if he's heard something. Merv's a little deaf, you know, and he doesn't hear me hollering away from downstairs. Also, he was sitting on the cat. Poor Muffin was limping for a week."  
  
Must kill. Must kill. Aya's smile widens, and the devious intent in his expression becomes apparent. He settles down, making himself comfortable. He's planning on staying here? While this giant walking mouth sits right next to me rambling about deaf guys, bowels and shit splattered basements?? The bastard! I was counting on him for having some excuse for us leaving in an awful hurry. I'd certainly like to be leaving. Even if it means waiting outside in the cold.  
  
'You'll pay for this.' I mouth at him. He pats me consoling on my knee and turns towards our new companion, feigning vague interest, as close as Aya can probably get to an expression of fascination. I jab him in the stomach, elbows thoroughly trapped at my sides by this woman and her stupid shopping bags, not to mention a still gloating Aya.  
  
The woman blabs at Aya (having apparently found her true audience) for at least another ten minutes. By the time she works her way into the topic of the results of her last visit to the gynecologist, I'm contemplating my own personal massacre of the entire staff of Sears. If I weren't completely wedged into this bench known as hell, I'd have escaped a long while ago. As is, to struggle out of this mess, I'd probably have to touch her, and after that last lovely little recollection, the one recounting her newly acquired infection 'down there', I'm thinking I'd rather not touch her whatever the risks.  
  
The main entrance opens up. The two people I most want to see come make an entrance. I could almost swear I hear organ music playing somewhere.  
  
Aya wriggles out of our not-so-cozy little tangle, helping me to my feet. I can't feel one of my arms. "We should be going now." He tells her. She's still talking to everyone and no one as I make my escape.  
  
"My HERO!" I shout, throwing myself at Ken as soon as we're outside. He snickers and pushes me away.  
  
"Do I want to know what was going on?"  
  
"She wouldn't stop TALKING at me!" I wail, leaning on Aya as if for support. "That is not something I plan on going through ever again." I jab my first finger at Aya's chest. "You will NOT drag me into that store as long as there is breath in this body. I told you it was a shitty place to go shopping." Omi and Ken laugh at my antics as I repeat bits and pieces of that terrorist's drivel. I would almost be willing to swear I saw even Aya chuckling the tiniest bit.  
  
I know the second we step through the door that it's going to be nothing but business from here on. Aya's got that look in his eyes. I'm only interested if business involves tracking down my new nemesis and making them scream for mercy. Now there's a pleasant though if I've ever heard one.  
  
Aya shuffles through the stack of papers he'd carelessly throw on the kitchen table.  
  
"And this was all WHAT again?" I ask, leaning on the table.  
  
"First-step research. Things anyone could know if they went through the right channels." Ken clarifies for me, apparently having magically read Aya's mind and plucked the knowledge out of it.  
  
Ken takes in my partially stupefied expression (I'm only assuming it looked that way to him) and smacks his hand to his forehead. "He told us that, when he showed up with them." He laughs. "Weren't paying attention again?"  
  
I shrug. If he said that, I honestly must not have been listening. I have no recollections involving him saying anything along those lines. Aya plops a fourth of the stack in front of me.  
  
"Read. Combine knowledge at the end." He commands in his typical fashion before disappearing into the living room. I glare balefully at my stack of papers. I'm SURE he gave me the thickest pile, just to antagonize me. I grimace, already anticipating the headache to come. Gone are the days when everything was summed up at someone else's expense in a tidy, concise video.  
  
I look around. Everyone's deserted me. Hmm. Reading all by myself doesn't seem like a fun proposition at all. Reading with Aya seems even less pleasant. He's so introverted when he's trying to accomplish something, minor as it may be. No one's in the living room. Gods, do I have to go and hunt them down now?  
  
I tromp heavily upstairs, already worn out from my brief excursion. How am I ever going to get back to top form?? I switch from loud steps to my job-silent, barely audible footfalls. If they're not downstairs, then what are they up to upstairs? I'm not really one for interrupting things, even if I am idly considering revenge on Ken still, but if they aren't actually up here reading like they're supposed to, I'm going to bust their asses for that. If I suffer, we all suffer. Right.  
  
I peek into Omi's room. They're snuggled up in bed, both reading away. I hold back a sigh. So, I can't rant at anyone for wrongdoing. I should go find somewhere with good lighting to read then. I do sigh as I thump back down the stairs. That should be me, all cozy and in bed with someone. It won't be though. Not with my sights currently set on Aya.  
  
I settle down in the living room, facing away from the den, so I won't be distracted by Aya, not that I can see anything but the top of his head when I look over. Direct sunlight hits the back of my neck, streaming in through a window. The bright sky belies the cold outside. As long as I keep my head tilted like so, I don't cast a shadow on the text. Definitely what I need.  
  
At least five minutes pass before I hear the soft whisper of feet on wood behind me. Aya sits down next to me, fidgeting with his own allotment of papers, refusing to look up.  
  
"Hmm?" I inquire, as subtle an acknowledgement of his presence as I can come up with.  
  
"Why are you so quiet?" He flicks a strand of hair out of his eyes. I smirk, amused, as it falls back into place. Just like him, complaining when I finally stop giving him something to complain about.  
  
"I can't very well read all of this AND talk at the same time." I remind him, still squinting at the closely typed lines. I rub my forehead, that old familiar ache right between my eyes. Gods, just like being back at school. I hated all of this shit.  
  
"Okay?" He leans closer, face almost expressing concern.  
  
I let out a nervous laugh. "Want to be let in on a secret?" He shrugs noncommittally in response. "I'm farsighted. I can see better than most people when it comes to distances, but you put something right in front of my face..." I trail off with a shrug of my own. "Reading gives me a headache. It's hard on my eyes to try to shape words out of the black blurs I see in front of me." I talk too much. I do that sometimes. When I'm nervous. Or just plain stupid. What if he decides this is yet another liability of mine? I should keep my damned mouth shut. I really should.  
  
"Shouldn't you own glasses?" He raises one eyebrow.  
  
"My sunglasses were prescription. I... I don't look so hot in regular glasses. You know me and my obsessive vanity. Couldn't let myself sit around looking like some sort of dope. Either way, my prescription sunglasses were in the shop. That means they're nothing but smithereens by now." I spread my hands palms out in an unconscious gesture of appeasement.  
  
Aya sighs. "I could always read it for you and then repeat the contents back to you ."  
  
"What? And have me slacking off again like the useless piece of shit that I am?" I snap back, a hint of that old resentment flaring up.  
  
His face pales and he starts to gather up his things, intent on leaving.  
  
"Shit, Aya. I didn't mean that." I grab a hold of his arm, trying to stall him. "It's just this headache, it puts me in an irritable mood. I didn't mean to say that. Hell, I didn't even think to say that, it just sort of slipped out. I'm sorry." The guileless apology flows more easily from my lips than it would ever from his. It's all about where you place your priorities, how you value your pride.  
  
Violet eyes relent only seconds before his body follows suit, sitting down once again.  
  
I hurry to continue smoothing things over, now that I'm sure he's not going to leave just yet. "Very kind of you of you to offer, but that's not much of an option right now." I smile hesitantly at him.  
  
He frowns, "If it makes your head hurt, then why keep going?" Trying to comprehend.  
  
"It matters to me, what you think when you look at me, when you think about me. If you're preoccupied, holding a grudge because I foisted off something I should be doing onto you, then you'll be angry with me as long as that's the foremost thought in your mind. It's important to me that you think well of me. You're important to me." It's the best explanation I can come up with.  
  
For a moment, his desire to flee is so great that his eyes don't even look human, instinct telling him to escape a confusing situation. Underneath, I can see old, dredged up layers of suspicion and anger and betrayal.  
  
Gods, I need to remind myself more often not to try to carry on conversations with Aya. Specifically ones that involve him, me, emotions, or all three of those topics together. There's always something I'll wind up saying to upset him. I reach a hand out, rest it on his shoulder.  
  
"I'm sorry." Quiet words so he won't run off on me. "I'll drop it."  
  
He starts under my touch, but still doesn't leave. I'm hoping I can take that as a positive sign.  
  
Then he frowns. "Why does any of that matter to you?" He demands. "You're not that desperate for an easy fuck again, are you?" He pushes my hand away, words flustered, angry, and not at all like anything he'd usually say.  
  
My eyebrows draw together. "Aya, gods! It's nothing like that!" I lean forward, capturing one of his clenched fists. I don't question his suspicion. That's not my place right now. "I'm not like that. I don't just treat people like meat. I like you. You're not exactly the most talkative or cheerful of all my chosen companions, but I honestly like to be around you. You can be so nice when you want to, more compassionate that you'd want anyone to think, and when you smile, it's like the world just stops in its tracks for a moment. Your good opinion doesn't matter to me because I want to use or degrade you. All I want from you is a little bit of time here and there and a smile every now and then to keep my heart in working order."  
  
I abruptly shut my mouth. Well, that was probably one of the more stupid things I've done during this lifetime of mine, and I can be pretty damned stupid when I want to. I tell the guy I'll drop a topic and then I use up an entire Jumbo-Paragraph babbling away at him about that very same thing, sounding like something from any number of chick movies I've been forced to see during this lifetime. I never leave well enough alone. He's going to bolt now, and I won't attempt to stop him. I lower my head in temporary defeat.  
  
Cool pale fingers tilt my face back up again. Aya studies my face closely, searching for something. I keep my face as blank as I can. His mouth eases and he releases my face. His eyes look past me for a moment, and when they return, they're blank of all expression. My stomach twists as I berate myself. I must have failed, lacking whatever it was he wanted to see.  
  
"I- Well, I mean, if reading without glasses gives you such a painful headache, I guess it wouldn't- I guess I wouldn't mind reading it for you." Aya fumbles for the words, an awkwardness so overwhelming it almost looks painful. Words aren't his friends, they're more his kryptonite than anything else.  
  
A glimmer of hope makes its presence felt. I'm not sure if he's simply attempting to be rid of me, or if he's once again apologizing in his own disjointed manner the only way he knows how to.  
  
"You're tired again. You should rest upstairs and I'll take care of this." He tries again.  
  
The final test in mind, I open my mouth. "If you really wouldn't mind, I'd be glad to hand this all over to you." I hesitate and then forge ahead. "Would you mind if I just stayed down here with you?"  
  
He shrugs, the nonchalance forced for once. "If you'd like to."  
  
Yes! I resist the urge to jump up and pump my fist into the air. Not only would it hurt, but Aya might suspect I've been talking to the voices in my head again.  
  
"Are we really going after these guys?" I peer over his should. Not that I can read the small print easily, just to be close to him.  
  
"Yes." Absolutely expressionless. "If not for what they did to you, then for what they did to our home."  
  
On impulse, I kiss the nape of his neck and rest my chin on his shoulder, the sun on my back warms the dark fabric of my clothes. My next question. "When?"  
  
He smiles, and this time it's a disturbing sight. Still gorgeous beyond all belief, but scary as hell. "Soon."  
  
I content myself, knowing that revenge is close at hand, even if not this very instant. It would be so easy, to doze off again, like the invalid that I am, resting against the warmth of his body, the silence soothing, basking in his company.  
  
I force my eyes to stay open instead. Make the best of the time you're given, I always say. Aya is giving me the opportunity to spend the requested time with him. I fully plan on enjoying this small victory as long as I can.  
**************  
-giggles- Heh, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade! -giggles some more- Oh, they meant a DIFFERENT sort of lemon. Silly me! Anyway, complaints, compliments, cadavers? Send them ALL my way! darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com or akainobaka@mchsi.com Stay tuned, girls, and uh... more girls. -pokes own eyeball- 


	9. Chapter Nine

-frowns- You guys suck! I have no reviews! Ooo, you poopy kids! If I didn't want to get on with the sequel, you meanies wouldn't get anything at all. -hugs Aya and Youji- Don't be sad, silly little stupid heads! I will write more about you! -cooes at her expressionless plushies- SQUEEEZE -glares at everyone else- Pooh!  
  
**************  
  
Intent on forcing my body back into it's old patterns, I somehow or another manage to stay awake until early evening, a major accomplishment for me at this point. It takes a massive effort, but the three of them eventually manage to chase me up to bed. Well, drag is more like it, but my dignity would rather not talk about that right now, thank you very much.  
  
Things dissolve from that point on. Everytime I close my eyes, my surroundings fade into one horrendous nightmare after another. I haven't even thought up some of these possible deaths yet, and still they keep parading behind my eyes. Most of them involve water, some of them involve Aya, laughing and smiling. Hours later, I wouldn't be surprised if things started popping out of the walls.  
  
It's time to give up, I decide, scrubbing at my sandpaper eyes. Gods, do you ever just need a hug sometimes? I sure do. Gods, do you ever feel like REALLY pathetic sometimes? Ditto the first answer.  
  
He's not downstairs. He's not home. No one is. There's no note. It's easy after that, to work myself up into a frenzy, searching the house for any shadowy corner I may have missed, wondering if the prickling at the back of my neck isn't more than my imagination. I think I kind of panic for a while, because the next thing I know I'm huddled up in the corner of Aya's room, panting for breath, and my hands are bleeding. I don't know why. I close my eyes, and this time I do doze off.  
  
"Youji?" The words carry a tinge of fear. I open my eyes, sleep bleared. Gleaming red with a corona of light gleaming off the top of his head like a halo. An angel? Am I finally going to get my ass kicked for being such a huge atheist?  
  
The angel crouches over me, blocking out the light, black clad and unsmiling.  
  
"Youji. What happened to your hands?" His eyebrows draw together.  
  
"Mm. It's just you, Aya." I mumble sleepily, frowning, not quite awake yet. Why is he asking about my hands? They sort of throb; pulsing like the rush in my ears. I look down. A thin layer of crackled, drying blood covers the battered appendages, more is smeared on my shirt, my skin. Flickers of dreams return, tortured faces.  
  
"No!" I rear up; my head connects with the windowsill. I sink back down, hands rubbing the top of my head. Rubbing blood into my hair. "Gods no. I didn't kill anyone!" I babble desperately, wanting to grab his coat, touch his face; make sure he's real, not just another nightmare taunting me. I can't though. I'm the murderer again, blood up to the elbows.  
  
"It's okay." He takes my hands in his, making me stand. I look around, wondering where the body is, flashes of nightmares and dreams still whirling in my mind. "It's all okay." He repeats, leading me over to the mattress on his floor, making me sit down. I catch a glimpse of brown and blue eyes, watching me from the doorway. I wonder how many times they'll see this scene play out before we move on to a new home where they can conveniently lock me up in a padded room for the evenings. Aya motions them away. No words, no sounds.  
  
He stands up again, leaves the room. Leaving me to drown. There's always blood on my hands. Every time I turn around. I don't mind. But I don't remember this time. I should remember. That's what scares me.  
  
Aya returns. I didn't think he would. He has a bowl with him, steam rising from the top, a washcloth in his other hand. How cute; how symbolic. I mistook him for an angel, and now he's washing away my sin. I laugh. He smoothes the hair away from my face, brushing a kiss across my forehead. Of course. Everyone loves the beautiful madman. Even if he is me.  
  
"You smashed the mirror in the bathroom." He tells me, expressionlessly. "With your hands."  
  
I look at them again, turn my palm upwards and look at my knees, my bare feet. All cut, bleeding. "I didn't kill anyone. I'm not a murderer today." I shake my head. Nightmares can mimic reality all to well sometimes. I am a madman.  
  
I watch blankly as Aya carefully picks slivers of glass out of my flesh, wetting the washcloth and wiping away the blood. "I didn't kill anyone." I announce again, unaccountably relieved. I didn't kill anyone. It's only my blood on my hands, not Aya's blood, like in my dream, not some poor schmuck's blood. Only Youji's blood.  
  
He takes care of my bare feet next. I look over at the doorway, seeing the smudged footprints where I'd left tracks in my own blood. He doesn't even comment when he has to push my loose pant legs up above my knees to avoid ripping them up more, sponging off more crusted and drying blood.  
  
He kneels next to me, solemn eyes fixed on my face. He looks almost child-like in his silent intensity for a moment. Innocent and pure as a chiseled figurine. Something available in any local Hallmark store.  
  
"We got back and things were knocked around, tipped over. There was broken glass in the hallway, bloody footprints, a dent in the wall." He speaks so softly I can barely make out the words. "I thought someone had shown up, taken you away again. I thought maybe I'd come up here, see your blood all over my walls, maybe even your body, bleeding, dead in a corner. And then when I finally do make it up all those stairs, there you are. And you were covered with blood. I was so sure you were dead."  
  
He doesn't even blink. Just those tired, wide eyes studying my face. I let out a pent up breath, finally acknowledging the fear I'd heard hiding under his level tone, echoing my earlier panic upon finding the house silent and barren.  
  
"It's okay." I breathe, repeating his words back at him, wrapping my arms around him, feeling him do the same. It's scary, to know what he's thinking. To lose the place that's been your home for so long, to lose someone you care for, get them back again, only to come home and find that fate may have again stripped you of one more thing. Something else life chooses to take from you. Like the existence you knew before. Like everything that matters to you.  
  
"Everything is fine. All okay." I whisper into his hair. I'm not sure if the words are more for me or for him. I rest my cheek on his shoulder, finally getting that long awaited hug.  
  
"What happened?" Aya finally asks, forcibly distancing himself, releasing the clenched handfuls of my shirt. He absently readjusts the folds in the fabric, trying to erase the crumple marks. If he can't be twitching at his own clothes, apparently he feels no problems about moving onto mine. It's his shirt I'm wearing anyway.  
  
"I'm not sure." I stare fixedly at the ground, trying to recall anything from after my first attempts at sleep. "I woke up. Had a bunch of dreams. Nightmares. I went downstairs and none of you were there. I thought you'd all run out on me in the night or something." I rub at the back of my neck. "It seemed like a logical assumption at the time. I don't remember much after that." I look at my knuckles. Crazy, crazy crazy; I chant to myself in my mind.  
  
I look over again. He's gone all inverted, eyes down, hands tucked under his arms, inside his still present coat for warmth. His hands are always so damned cold. I can't say the same about the rest of him, but his hands... I reach out again, moving closer, bringing them up to rest against my neck, against my already warm skin. He sighs through barely parted lips, curling his fingers inward to thaw out the backs of his hands.  
  
"Are you guys okay?" Omi somehow or another has managed to silently approach us from the side.  
  
Aya's eyes flit over to Omi, to his hands, up to my face. I stay focused on his expression, my own hands rising to cover his. Omi's not brain dead. He knows what's going on. I could care less what he thinks when he sees us right now. Aya's opinion is the only one that matters.  
  
"Everything is fine." I finally look away from Aya, studying Omi's slumping posture, the worried blue eyes. I gently curl Aya's hands shut in my grip, bringing them to rest on his lap. Pushing myself to my feet, I wonder again if this rustiness is what it feels like to be unbearably old.  
  
Omi leans against me as I hug him, bones fragile beneath golden skin. His head barely comes up to my shoulder.  
  
"Are you going to be okay?" He mumbles into my chest, eyes tightly closed. I wonder if I should ask him the same thing. He's older, thinner, more worn out than he used to be. We all are. I don't remember him being so small. He finally backs away, scrubbing at his eyes. "I'm sorry." He whispers, hurrying back out, most likely to find Ken.  
  
Aya stands behind me. "He's too young for all of this." I try to explain to him.  
  
"He's been doing this for many more years than either you or I have. He didn't have a childhood. He grew up an assassin."  
  
There's Aya reasoning for you. I close my eyes; the world seems to sway around me. "I'm still tired." I stumble back to the mattress, sitting on Aya's side of the bed, unable to go any further.  
  
He sits next to me again, arm brushing mine. The desperation is still there. I could have been gone, could have been dead to him all over again. He rests against my side; his eyes oddly blank again. Too many strung out emotions all in one day for him, I guess. I brush wayward bangs away from his forehead again.  
  
"Beautiful."  
  
He refuses to meet my gaze, unable to acknowledge my simple statement. "No." He finally replies. "Not beautiful in the least. I am death, I am dead."  
  
"No, you're not, Aya. You're not dead, and neither am I. And yes, you ARE beautiful. Even if you won't admit it." I smile against his shoulder before exhaustedly dragging myself across the bed to my half. Just looking at those inviting sheets and the thick layer of blankets is making me sleepy, much nicer than dozing on a pile of broken glass.  
  
I curl up on my side, back to him. He's not one for social scenes in bed, and quite frankly, for once I'm only interested in the restive angle myself. I listen to him shucking off his coat and wandering about, setting things upright and turning off the light. A warm body presses up against my back, heat, smooth arms wrapping around me. I lean back.  
  
One of his icy hands brushes my arm. "Gods!" I hiss between my teeth. "You're going to kill me with those ice blocks one of these days." I slip his hands up under my shirt, only jerking slightly as I tuck his painfully cold fingers up against my stomach. "I'm surprised you haven't lost your fingers to frostbite merely by sitting around the house. You should never go outside again during the winter." I'm not joking either.  
  
He nuzzles the back of my neck. "Glad you're okay." He finally admits, the words I already knew but hadn't heard. He doesn't say anything else after that.  
  
Tucking his fingers more securely against my warm sides, I wriggle back into his embrace, making myself comfortable. "Goodnight, Ran." I deliberately use his real name, tightening my grip on his hands.  
  
"Tomorrow the real war starts." The words sound more like a promise of vengeance than a reassuring bedtime well wishing. How like him. How absolutely like him. A single train of thought running at all times, a fiercely protective nature if you're in on his good side, the most adorable smile you could ever hope to see. Beautiful.  
  
The rest of the night passes as a hazy transfer from waking to sleep at random intervals. Aya's always awake when I turn to check, eyes fixed on some distant point in the darkness until he notices my movements. I haven't felt this safe at night for years. Not since her, well, since she... I block out the thoughts. That's all in the past. I don't dwell on the past; I forge ahead towards the future, useless as that may be.  
  
Someone was nice enough to clean up the shattered mirror while I slept. I'm glad, because stumbling into the darkened bathroom first thing in the morning is NOT a nice time to suddenly find a shard of glass poking out of your heel. Especially when all you want is a quick shower and even more importantly a chance to relive your bladder. Oops. In this land of unreality, characters aren't supposed to possess bodily functions. I'll have to remind myself of that later.   
  
I finally get a chance to scrape those old, somewhat shabby bandages off of my skin. As far as I'm concerned, anything underneath has had enough time to at least heal over on the surface, and if it hasn't... oh well! I'll contend with that problem if it ever arises. I spend a good half an hour obsessively scrubbing at my skin until certain patches actual radiate a dull pain. Gods, and in how many ways and languages can we say 'fucked-up', boys and girls?  
  
Toweling off my hair as I go, I silently pad back down the hallway, easing Aya's door back open. I guess it's my door now too, seeing as I sleep here on a permanent basis. He's sprawled out in bed, covers pushed down to his waist. And I'll bet he wonders why it seems so much warmer sleeping next to me. I at least understand that blankets equal warmth, even in my sleep.  
  
I worm my way back under the covers, cocooning them around us as I go. His eyes flutter open, not on guard enough to be startled. He twists to look at the time, grunts once, and then pulls the top coverlet up over his head, intent on returning to sleepyland. I must be a bad influence on him. I've never seen Aya sleep past dawn. It's like a prerequisite for life, Aya has to be up with the sun, or the world will end. Fuck the rooster.  
  
"You feeling okay?" I duck under the covers with him, cupping his sleep-flushed cheeks in my hands. It's surreal, just being able to touch him whenever I want. Almost as bizarre as Aya still being asleep at this hour. I trail fingertips down along his jaw; kiss the corner of his mouth. He mumbles drowsily, turning towards my caress.  
  
He's not taking a hint and waking up. I nuzzle his nose with my own, press his bare palms to my chest. Time to wake Sleepy Beauty here up with style. His eyes open mere seconds after my lips first brush his, sliding my tongue along his lower lip, pressing forward into his mouth, the slick, delicious texture of his tongue against mine. It's enough to send shivers up your spine. It certainly does that to me, I'll tell you what.  
  
"G'morning." I finally manage to croak, breath coming much too fast for the nonchalant attitude I was planning on going for. Not quite awake yet, he tangles his legs with mine, slowly, languorously rubbing his morning erection against mine. He pulls my face back down for another kiss, unhurried as the slow pleasure of his body rocking against mine.  
  
There doesn't seem to be any cause to rush in the pale light of the morning. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, just us. I arch my back as he lightly runs nails down my sides. "Mmmm. Like that." Whispered words, instructions, admissions. He's not quite coherent enough to protest, and I fully plan to take advantage of this phase while it lasts.  
  
It's time for the slow seduction he never got the benefit of. Soft kisses, nothing but the play of tongue and lip, the barest touch of my mouth to the hollow of his throat. I whisper fingertips across his skin, treating him like blown glass, scattering kisses along his shoulders as I slow the motions of my pelvis.  
  
"Please." A low noise in the back of his throat as he twists under me, my mouth fastening onto one of his nipples. He kindles even more to the gentle swirl of my tongue, the nibbling of my teeth, our eyes closed tight, tasting the salt and heat of his skin. I smooth the back of my hands down along his body, trying to spare him even the faint roughness of the calluses on my fingers, my palms. He deserves this. Not the frenzy of yesterday, when all I could think about was trying to remove their taint from my body, trying to lose myself in his body.  
  
Murmured words against perfect porcelain skin, the only color his pale, pale nipples and his flushed, parted lips. Beautiful, and I can't get enough of him, not in this lifetime. I tangle my fingers in fabric.  
  
"Do you even have to wear these to bed?" I ask him, already loosening the drawstring pants, sliding them down and out of my way. Gods, still every bit as perfect. I return to his torso, intent on touching, tasting every inch of his skin, tongue tracing a slick line from hipbone to hipbone. He twists his fingers into my hair, trying to push me down further. I know what he wants. He can wait. I'm doing this properly this time around.  
  
My knees nudge apart his legs even as I move down his body, feathering kisses anywhere within reach. Carefully running my fingers over the contours of his foot, I bend to take one of his toes into my mouth, rolling my tongue around it, moving to the next. He trembles, head thrown back, fists clenching covers.  
  
"Tickles." He gasps out, not making any move to get away. It does tickle, I know that for a fact, but it also feels good, almost indescribable with its mixed intensities.  
  
I move up to those fine boned ankles, kissing the smooth line of his calves, finally reaching his inhumanly silky-skinned thighs. My tongue laves the flawless plane before me as I move on to the juncture of his thighs, where I'm sure he'd much rather I be. I slide my palms along the velvet skin of his erection, marveling all the more that someone as outwardly rugged and invulnerable could wind up being so touchably soft, so desperately in need of human contact and affection beneath it all.  
  
I lower myself onto my elbows, hovering just slightly above him, letting his member slide into the warmth of my mouth. It would be so easy to form so many different obsessions about him. Even in my mouth, he feels like silk, pure ambrosia against my tongue. Still going with the theme of this bout, I keep my strokes languid and relaxed. The door is locked and no sudden crisis is going to evolve. We have all the time in the world to ourselves.  
  
Hot and desperate, he arches up into my mouth, doing his best to remove large handfuls of my hair as I do my best to make him come gasping my name. I hold his hips down, determined to draw this out as long as I possibly can. I don't know how many people he's been with before, but I'm going to leave a good impression on him this time no matter what he's been up against in the past. I didn't earn my reputation as a playboy by being a bad fuck, don't you know.  
  
The claw of his blunt nails into my scalp is almost a pleasurable sensation, effectively adding to the heat between my own legs. I bring my hands into the mix, pinning him down with my elbows still. He doesn't stand a chance of holding out. When I finally move to the cadence his steadily flexing muscles have been demanding, it's only seconds before he tenses up, wire taut, flooding my mouth with liquid heat.  
  
I brush the over-sensitized skin of his stomach as I move back up to his face, he shivers under my touch. Vivid indigo eyes blink open as I watch his face. Emotions crowd together in the depths of his eyes.  
  
"What was that for?" He's flustered again.  
  
"Because you're beautiful, and you deserve nothing but good things. Mostly just because I felt like it." I smile at him, feeling sickening sentimental and capricious. Someone just shoot me now before I start reciting crap poetry and declaring my undying devotion.  
  
He glides a still unsteady hand down my stomach. "You didn't-" He bites his lower lip. He's cute when he's playing coy.  
  
"It's not important." I glibly lie through my teeth. I'm going to be a good little Youji now. I'm going to leave it up to him, though if his decision is unfavorable I may need to run off for a few moments of private time, if you know what I mean.  
  
His fingers tentatively wrap around my unfulfilled need. "Nnn. Ran, like that." I breathe against his mouth, more than ready to encourage him if that's what it takes to keep him going.  
  
"Thought I told you not to call me Ran." He mumbles back, eyes downcast as he concentrates, realizing that I respond to the same things he does.  
  
"Unless I'm fucking you." I finish his sentence. "And this is pretty damn-Mmm." I lose my train of thought as his hand speeds, tightening. "Is this how you do it?" My fingers spasmodically tighten on his shoulders as he slicks his tongue across an already gleaming lower lip. "Mmm. How much money would I pay to see you doing this to yourself." That idea in itself is pushing me as close to the edge of climax as his skilled hands are.  
  
I stifle the urge to give into my dirty-talk fetish, keeping the images splintering through my mind to myself. He leaves off worrying his own bottom lip, transferring his attentions to mine, intent on drawing me down into the slick, hot delirium of his mouth. I finally give in, hips rocking in synchrony with his fevered ministrations. "Don't stop, Unn! Don't stop, please, Uhn gods, Raannn Nnn." I come, painting streaks across both our abdomens, heartbeat pounding in my ears, body shuddering with pleasure.  
  
Our skin sticks together as I collapse partway on top of Aya, muffling my harsh breathing against his neck. Soothing hands rub slow circles on my equally sweat-slicked back, careful to avoid the newly revealed wounds, as I come down from the temporary high.  
  
"You never stop talking, do you?" He murmurs in my ear, shifting my weight to the side a bit. I let him reposition me like a rag doll, still limp and unresisting.  
  
"That was nothing." I laugh weakly against his damp, cool skin. "That was nothing at all. One of these day you'll wind up with a real earful." I let my face muscles go as lax as the rest of my body, just sleepy and content. My internal Magic Eight Ball tells me that all signs point towards a pleasant day.  
  
He watches me out the corner of my eye, pretending he isn't. "Like what you see?" That quirky little grin of mine springs into place without my mind even willing it. I hope he likes what he sees; I'm more charm than actual substantial good looks. Most people don't realize that until I've thoroughly managed to brainwash them into worshipping the ground I walk on, and by then they don't care. Hehe. Riiiiiiight, go on talking Youji. We belive your bullshit, don't we?  
  
After a few moments pass, after we have time to slow our hearts and breathing, he pushes me to the side, kicking covers left and right.  
  
"I need a shower now." He frowns at me, not really meaning it. He runs a finger disdainfully through the come splattered across his stomach, looks at me. He picks up the towel that was left to dry across the back of his chair.  
  
"I'm not invited then?" I pout, watching him. He considers wrapping the towel around his waist, realizes he'll get the towel dirty that way, digs up a pair of already soiled pants to pull on.  
  
His eyes slide my way for a moment, bounce away, determined not to make eye contact. "Do whatever you wish." He intones, forcibly nonchalant. "You usually do just what you want no matter what anyone else may say." He picks up my towel and drops it on my legs followed by a pair of my boxers. I guess that means "Yes" in AyaSpeak.  
  
I struggle into the boxers, legs still a tad shaky, pad down the hallway after him, towel draped over my arm. Ken and Omi are downstairs, voices bubbling up the stairs. I don't resent them their inane joy for once. Being endlessly happy isn't all it's cut up to be. I'd prefer sex and a shower with a beautiful person to endless glee any day. Aya catches me grinning at him and chooses to ignore me.  
  
Steam swirls around the room, instantly infusing the air around me with extra warmth. Aya adjusts the temperature before pushing in the little button that switches the water from the faucet to the showerhead. I'd have figured he took cold showers. Something parsimonious and "energy saving" all at the same time. That provokes a mental shiver. The thought of purposefully immersing myself in cold water... not in this lifetime, thank you.  
  
Aya steps under the stream first, unwilling to move very far after I climb in myself. We jostle for space under the blissfully heated water. Nothing better during the winter than a lovely scalding shower. When he manages to manipulate himself in front of me, hogging all of the spray, I attack him with the soap.  
  
I'm not sure how we wind up lying down. All I know is one second we're mock-fighting over the soap, the next my knees are bruised and I've got Aya's full weight in my arms, the only thing that kept him from cracking his head on the porcelain.  
  
I loosen my grip on him, setting him down into his unexpected sprawl on the bottom of the tub. He tilts his face up, eyelashes spiked, hair clinging to his cheeks. Gods, I could fall in love. Maybe I already am. How would I know?  
  
Warm, wet arms link around my neck, pulling me down for a kiss.  
  
----  
  
"They're a globe spanning corporation with a division in every imaginable nation. Up until a few months ago, things were run by a man known as Reisho, Satoma." Omi looks up, expectantly. No one comments. "He's one of the men we killed on the job right before Youji was taken. The warehouse hit. We had two missions in a row involving Meleeke Inc. as the target. It seems like everyone wants a piece of the action these days. After Reisho's demise, his position was filled by their Chief of Security. He's been with Meleeke longer than most of the top ranking executives. The new head of Japanese divisions, the security guy is known simply as "Ko-ishi". Some sort of nick name."  
  
"Ko-ishi. Stone. What a fitting name." I spit out with a flat laugh. "I know who he is." Aya looks over, startled by my reaction. I haven't told him about Stone-Face. How bizarre, that his name really should be so similar. I'm sure he'll go to his grave with my wire around his throat, still thinking about how wonderful an epithet he's picked out for himself. And I will kill him, no question about that.  
  
The rest of Weiss watches me from around the kitchen table, waiting for me to elaborate. I gesture for Omi to continue. No comments from me right now.  
  
"Most of what I read was nothing but internal politics. It seems Meleeke Inc. is run by two separate parties, balancing out the other's aims. Ko-ishi is head of the more forcefully minded party. He appears to be their driving force, and if we took him out, all the illegal trades they've been involved in that I've been reading about would come to a halt. They wouldn't have so much ill-gained information, and we probably won't be asked to tangle with them again. Meanwhile, Ko-ishi, who I'm assuming was responsible for the destruction of our home-" He stops again.  
  
"I had basic building plans." Ken tries to fill the pained silence, every-ready to protect our golden boy. "I don't know how you managed to get hold of those Aya. I'd be willing to bet large sums of money that most of those didn't come from any public access records. They're complete though. I don't think we'll need anything more. Maybe just some work schedules and security system billings, so we'll know who to expect to be where at what time."  
  
Calmly, Aya flips a sheaf of papers towards the center of the table. "Print outs of the past two weeks, and the next two upcoming weeks. They seem to follow a fairly regular pattern, no changing schedules." He looks almost smug. I don't blame him. In a few hours he managed to get sufficient information to pull off a smoothly run hit, and none of it involved incriminating hacking or dangerous spying. I hope.  
  
"Ko-ishi has an office on the top floor. A different building than the one we infiltrated last time. They have several main offices for their many divisions. If we just-"  
  
I tune him out, catching Omi's eyes. He nods. He'll fill me in later on the important details. He usually does. I go back to Aya watching. I could do this all day, quite honestly. He's frowning in concentration. It won't be long until he has a permanent wrinkle between his eyebrows, from scrunching them together like that.  
  
"There's something else we need to take care of." Aya speaks up when Ken finally finishes. "There is going to be a very elaborate memorial service for us in two days."  
  
Two pairs of shocked eyes stare incredulously at him. I laugh until I feel faint.  
  
"Why is that funny?" Ken demands, visibly unsettled.  
  
I stop laughing. "I don't know. It seemed funny at the time."  
  
"That's one of those tell-tale signs that you may have borderline personality disorder." Ken frowns at me. "An inappropriate reaction to something, laughing at a sad situation, crying during a comedy themed movie." He sounds as if he'd quoting from something or another. I decide not to ask.  
  
"Youji doesn't have a borderline personality disorder." Aya pins him with an almost frightening look. How sweet. He's defending my honor. I put an arm around his neck and bare my teeth at Ken.  
  
"That's right Ken. I don't have a borderline personality disorder." The overly wide grimace turns into a smile. I can't help it. Ken's actually always cute when he's in "clueless" mode. I laugh. "I don't even know what a borderline personality is. Don't tell me." I hold my hand up to halt any repeated explanation. It would be most displeasing if he were right. If I am crazy, I'd prefer no revel in my own ignorance. You know what they say, about bliss and ignorance and all.  
  
No one comments on the arm I leave slung comfortably around his neck. Not even Aya "don't call me Ran unless you're fucking me" Fujimiya. Name has a nice ring to it, I must admit.  
  
"Speaking of Youji, it's your turn to dish." Omi points at me. The finger of doom. "You know Ko-ishi?"  
  
"I'd be willing to bet large sums of money that I know who he is. We weren't ever exactly formally introduced." I stop speaking, trying to put out "don't want to talk about it" vibes.  
  
"If I showed you a picture, could you identify him?" Aya starts flipping through papers unbidden.  
  
I don't want to see him. Don't want to see that waxen face, those polished stones where his eyes should be. I don't want to look at his face until it's detached from his body, sliced from his neck, preferably by my hands. Then he's there, looking out of a black and white photocopy, face made less artificial by the high contrast settings of the copying machine.  
  
My legs react for me, pushing up, away from the table, the chair behind me falling over with a crash. "That son of a fucking bitch!" I grit out, unable to look away. "Son of a mother-fucking bitch!" Still in control, my body backs away, almost tumbling over the chair, continuing until I'm in the doorway.  
  
"Put it away." My throat aches from the unexpected harsh yell. "Put the fucking picture away!" My back hits a wall, the kitchen doorway next to me.  
  
"Youji?" Concern from Omi. If he's so fucking concerned, why doesn't he put the goddamned picture away? I don't want him looking at me like that again. I'm going to kill him.  
  
Ken starts around the table towards me, thinking to calm me down no doubt. I ignore him.  
  
"Ken, stop." Aya, calm, cool. He halts the thoughts in my head, just with his voice, with two words not even directed at me. His hands intercept my vision, crumpling up the copied photograph, tossing it into the kitchen trashcan. I close my eyes, shaky breaths expelled from somewhere deep down in my chest.  
  
A calloused, warm hand closes over my upper arm. Ken, no doubt. I jerk out of his grasp.  
  
"Just leave me alone for a moment."  
  
He steps back from what he sees in my expression, his own brown eyes wide and uncertain. I close my eyes again; cover my face. I'm not crazy. Even if Ken was just talking about that, even if I just fucking flipped out over a piece of paper. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. Everything is okay. It's gone now, and I'm not crazy.  
  
Cold fingers now, on mine. His hands are always cold. I let him pull my hands away from my face. Icy fingers brush my cheek, a welcome touch for all that it makes me shiver.  
  
"Would you two leave for a moment?" Quiet and controlled. You'd never know from the flat tone that anything beyond the norm was going on. They leave. I sag forward without a word, crumpling against his body. No words, that's what's best for him, and for once I won't argue.  
  
"I'm sorry." I murmur against his neck.  
  
"For what?" Tentative fingers stroke my hair, an uncharacteristic gesture.  
  
I let a few more breaths shudder in and out of my body, reassuring myself of his presence. Time to make the effort and pull away. I lean back against the wall, unsure whether or not my feet will hold me up on their own. It's time to stop being weak. No one ever got somewhere by being pathetic. Bad things happen to good people. I'm not even a good person and bad things still happened to me. Time to just get over it. I'm tired of running to Aya every time something goes wrong, every time I start flipping out. I'm not fucking crazy. I'm not pathetic, useless. I wasn't before.  
  
He waits while I sort my thoughts out, the silence between us as comfortable as it will probably ever get. "I'm not crazy." I finally announce, feeling that to be an important fact to establish.  
  
"No," he agrees stoically.  
  
"I depend on other people too much sometimes. I didn't used to do this as much before." Neither of us need to clarify which "before" I'm talking about. "But I'm not crazy. I just need a bit of time." Gods, but I'm bungling this. I don't even know what I want to say anymore. Aya and I can trade titles now, and I can be Mr. Articulate for the day.  
  
"We're hitting Meeleke Inc. in two days." Aya tells me.  
  
"In two days. Gods, this isn't much of a warning. I'm not still fully functional in a lot of ways. No time for me to heal up?" Now I'm confused. Not that this is a new sensation for me.  
  
"We talked about that." Purple eyes flit around the room, examine his shoes, my shoes, the wall, anything but my face.  
  
"And what did WE decide?" Dread tightens in my stomach. Gods, more conspiracies. This is just like last time. He wants me off the team. Useless. I am useless to him.  
  
"You're not healthy enough to do anything strenuous yet. I don't know how steady you'd be around anyone you had grievances against. Your reaction just a few minutes ago clarifies things. I don't want you involved in anything for a while."  
  
For a moment the old belligerent urges come back. I should argue with him, get into a physical fight with him, say horrible things to him, hate him. I close my eyes. I don't depend on anyone. I'm not crazy, and it's okay.  
  
"I wish you trusted me enough to tell me at the same you told them." The words are as even as I can make them. "I wouldn't have wasted my time listening to you guys blabbing about details that don't concern me."  
  
"You're still part of the team." Omi, from the doorway. I reach over and scruffle his hair, let the whole thing go. It's not worth it right now.  
  
"I hope so." I reply as Ken peeps around Omi, two eavesdroppers not even bothering to look guilty.  
  
"We thought you'd flip out again." Ken explains in that blatantly honest way of his. "This needs to be done soon. They'll be expecting us to either regroup and get ready to go at them much further into the future, or to be frightened off. The sooner we attack, the less they'll be expecting it." Tactical sense from Ken. He couldn't have made that up himself. Someone else must have explained it to him.  
  
"It doesn't matter to me." I lift one shoulder, an idea already forming in my mind. Not an original idea, I rarely have truly original ideas, but a workable one. I smile, making it look more forced than it really is, manipulating them into sympathy and respect for me. 'Poor Youji, see how well he's taking it all.' I mentally mimic them in my mind, just for a brief flicker of amusement. I'm going with them, whether they know it or not, whether or not we leave at the same time. All that matters is getting them to be unwary with good behavior. With Youji behavior.  
  
"Well, as of the fact that I won't really be needed any time in the future, how 'bout busting out the alcohol for Uncle Youji?" I flash them all my most winning smile, successfully recapturing the cocky old attitude.  
  
Ken and Omi groan and flap their hands at me in mock disappointment. Aya watches me with barely masked suspicion.  
  
**************  
  
Well, not that I'm one to toot my own horn, but I do dearly love this chapter. I'm not sure why it's boosted up so much in my esteem, it's certainly not one of the better written things I've got out there, but I do likes it all the same! Well, here we go, required e-mail plug:  
  
WRITE ME E-MAILS 'N' STUFF!  
  
darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com  
  
or  
  
akainobaka@mchsi.com   
  
If you are mean and do not respond, I shall not update, poop heads! I am in the middle of moving to another state, and I require great incentive to do anything! 


	10. Chapter Ten

Here we are, just two chapters away from completion! Woo hoo for reaching goals!  
  
**************  
  
Aya relents, actually goes out and buys alcohol for me. Any brand I put on the list, he gets it. Maybe he thinks he can keep me more manageable this way. I stash the goods in our room, sip enough to taint my breath, pour a few cups down the drain on a regular basis. It's easy to act drunk when you've spent a large percent of your life actually being the real thing.  
  
It's a waste of good liquor, but it would be an even bigger waste of my few remaining physical resources to dull all my nerves with it. Aya's spent a lot of time glaring daggers at me and making a point of not being in the room with me. That stings a little, but he'll get over all this.  
  
"Do these clothes make me look fat?" I slur at Aya, having struggled into publicly acceptable clothing bare minutes ago. We're going out again for numerous errands we need to take care of.  
  
Aya frowns. "You're drunk." He states the obvious with his usual dead-on accuracy. Congratulations, we have a winner. Except, he's not the winner. I am. I haven't been this sober in a LONG while. Tomorrow, tomorrow night they go to kill Ko-ishi. And I'll go with them. They just don't know that yet.  
  
I lean in, giving Aya a big sloppy kiss, letting him get a taste of what I've been "drinking". He sighs, letting me, then pushing me away, trying not to act thoroughly disgusted with my behavior. I'm a bit worried about pushing him away for good, and I wouldn't risk it if it weren't for something so utterly important.  
  
"They do, don't they?" I tug at the shirt, pulling it out. I love aggravating people a little too much. "Gods, I'm ruined. I couldn't fit through a window! How can I ever be an assassin again?" I force it to come out as a sort of bereaved moan.  
  
Aya throws a pillow at me and angrily stalks out of the bedroom. Alone finally, I relax a bit, letting the slaphappy smile fade off my face for a moment. That expression was starting to hurt. My cheeks ache.  
  
"Where are we going again?" Downstairs, I throw a comradely arm around Ken's shoulders, laughing at his startled expression.  
  
"Scared the crap out of me, Youji!" He pushes me away. He doesn't like being hung on, even by Omi. I pinch one of his cheeks.  
  
"C'mon, you can tell me, where are we going to again?" I get up into his air space, playing my part to the hilt.  
  
Ken sighs. "They're holding a memorial service for us tomorrow. They think we're dead." He talks slowly, thinking me drunk and therefore stupid as well. "We have to let people know that we're not, so they don't have funerals for us. Then we can disappear without a trace again and not have to worry about explaining away an unexpected return from the dead. It's hard to get things done if you can't access your own bank accounts due to death." He shakes his head, no doubt thinking of all the annoying, sobbing fan girls we've broken the hearts of, now unable to fantasize about becoming one of our girlfriend's.  
  
I nod as if processing the information. I don't go so far as to ask him to outline our plan of action yet another time. It's simple, and I don't want to have to hear it again. We go down to the Police Station, talk with the people in charge of investigating our supposed deaths, clear things up a little. Nothing too well thought out. It doesn't require any effort at this point.  
  
Tired of playing the bumbling drunkard, I slump down on the couch, letting my hair cover my face as I lean forward. I should get a life-like mask, impose it over my features and just FROWN behind it, give my face a break from smiling. I'm starting to hate being happy. It causes physical pain. It really does.  
  
"Don't whine at me when you have a hang-over." Aya's feet appear in front of my line of vision. "Get up. It's time to go." He turns on his heel, disappearing from my sight again. I get up and follow like the good little dog that I am.   
  
- - - - - - - -  
  
"Yeah. So, we just wanted to point out that we're not dead so our over elaborate funeral won't go through tomorrow." Ken explains for about the sixth time to a frowning police officer.  
  
"Why is it again, that none of you showed up here right after learning your home and place of business had been razed to the ground." His frown deepens. He looks more than a little incredulous. Aya's expressionless face and my drunken sniggers immediately put us on his bad side.  
  
"It's a very long story-" Ken starts again, sighing as he acts as spokesperson yet again.  
  
"Does this story explain why he looks like he's been abused by an entire street gang?" The officer gestures at me, frowning as my eyes follow his hand's path with fixed fascination. "And why he's drunk out of his ever-loving fucking mind." That really sets me off laughing. Ever-loving fucking mind? Where does he get it?  
  
Aya positively looms over me. "Shut up and sit still." He does a fairly passable impression of what most people think Satan would look like, complete with terrifying growl and contorted expression of fury. Just for appearances sake, I comply.  
  
"That's why we were out. To get this drunken imbecile's ass back. We ran a flower shop, as I'm sure you know. High school girls would flock there by the dozens with their stupid crushes." Aya steps up, ready with some explanation that will probably far outweigh Ken's tired inventions. "Some girl's brother decided that Youji must have slept with his beloved little sister. He and some of his friends got a hold of him and knocked the crap out of him. While we were gone, someone torched our home."   
  
He's so blank and lifeless I'm afraid he's blown it all for a moment before I see the cop's face relax. "Well, I'm awful sorry about what's happened. I'll go see if Deramb is still in." He leaves the small office to go find yet another person we'll have to repeat all this to. Oh goodie.  
  
It takes another two hours to sort everything out. By the end I'm getting one of those lovely migraines between my eyes, too tired to put forth a front of sodden joviality. They're not paying much attention to me by this point anyway. I made it clear I didn't want to press charges against the guys who'd supposedly beat me, and we made it clear that we couldn't identify any of the fictitious characters who supposedly decimation our property. I slump in a corner, wanting to go, wanting some food in my stomach. I'm getting spoiled in that department.  
  
By the end of the first hour of their callous questions and endless prying, Omi was 'emotionally overwhelmed'. He sits next to me now, head bowed, body shivering. I'm not sure if he's faking it or not. He's a fairly talented actor. Either way, his outburst seems to have made a good impression on everyone who saw it. Apologies flew think through the air for the next few minutes.  
  
"It's not a problem. We'll contact everyone involved with your upcoming memorial." Detective Deramb is telling us. He's young to be in such a high position, clear skin, bright expectant eyes. Maybe 27, 28 year old. Naïve, I'd say. He sat us down to explain to us that it was no accident that the building went up like a Christmas tree. He could clearly see signs of arson during his tour of the gutted wreck that once was our humble abode. We all bite our tongues to keep from rudely 'explaining' to him that we KNOW all of this already.  
  
When asked to produce a list of possible suspects we play dumb and tell him with wide eyes that we couldn't think of anyone that would do something so horrible to us. It seems to work. At about six o' clock on the dot, they let us leave after obtaining our new address in case they have any further questions. Deramb pats Omi on the shoulder before we leave, sympathy written in bold letters across his kind face.  
  
"Can we eat now?" The words are out of my mouth before my feet hit the pavement. "I'm going to starve here if I don't get something in my stomach." Omi looks up and agrees. He smiles at me. He was faking it, the little brat. I cuff him lightly. "Good show, tricking us all."  
  
He falls into step beside me as Ken and Aya go over details a few feet ahead. "Almost as good as you, eh Youji?" He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. I stop breathing.  
  
"I'm afraid I'm not following you." I tell him, hoping he's not saying what I think he is.  
  
"I won't tell them. I know you were pretending to be drunk. I know you're probably planning on following after us two nights from now when we go after Ko-ishi. I won't tell them. You're a grown up, you can make your own decisions." He sighs. "I wish you wouldn't though. You're going to get hurt somehow. You're still slow, injured." He links his elbow around my closest arm, looking up at me as we walk. "I really wish you wouldn't."  
  
I thousand things flash through my mind at once, all of them wanting to be voiced immediately. "How?" Is all I can manage.  
  
"How did I know you were acting? I'm perceptive like that. Also, I've lived in the same building as you for a long while. I know what you're like when you're absolutely smashed, and it's very similar to what you were doing, but different." He struggles to explain. "Underneath the laughter and reeling about there was an almost visible streak of cunning. You're never calculating when you're really drunk. When you're really drunk you're either absolutely, hysterically amused, or depressed and upset. There's never anything concealed underneath it, there's no middle line."  
  
Ken slows down, waiting for us to catch up. Omi lets go of my arm. "Please listen to me. It's going to be dangerous for you. You're the closest thing I've ever had to a family, you and Ken and Aya. I don't want you to die." He squeezes my hand and then transfers his glomp to Ken.  
  
"Ken! We're hungry!" He does that "BIG EYES" thing and Ken practically melts. I don't blame him. He was doing that to me the whole time and I still feel like I've been hit by a truck. Gods. He knows but he won't tell. He could still slip up though. My mind runs ahead, trying to recalculate things to my satisfaction.  
  
After piling into the car we spend only a few moments discussing where we want to eat. Aya's driving, so it's ultimately up to him, we decide. I don't think he cares either way. He goes back to where we ate only a few days before, not being one to try for spontaneity.  
  
This time no one complains about my eating too little, stuffing myself to the point of pure gluttony as I do. We head back out to the car, start to head back home.  
  
I'm the one who notices the bright sky first. "Hehe, looks like someone's having a big old barbecue up ahead." I laugh.  
  
Then I stop. Our street is blocked off by police tape, people hovering all around, watching whatever spectacle is occurring up ahead. I dash out of the car before anyone can stop me, run up to the blockade.  
  
"What the fuck is going on?" I grab a hold of the first person in a uniform I can find. Sirens up ahead. I see a fire truck. Several of them. Something major is on fire. A building perhaps.  
  
"There's a fire." He tells me as if I'm beyond stupid. "You're not supposed to cross the tape." He scowls at me, thinking me to be another morbid spectator.  
  
"I FUCKING LIVE HERE! WHAT HOUSE IS ON FIRE!?" I'm shaking him. Arms pry me away; I whirl, ready to knock someone's teeth out. Aya frowns back at me.  
  
"It's not us." He assures me.  
  
No, the firefighter I was shaking a few moments ago agrees. Then he gives us the address of the house that's really burning. A direct match. I do punch Aya then, seeing his lip spread and then split under my fist, blood immediately staining his chin.  
  
No one stops me as I rush towards the source of the glow. Deramb himself comes after me. The pretty boy cop from earlier. What the hell is he here for? To satisfy his curiosity? To watch something burn?  
  
"That's my fucking house!" I yell at him, voice all but drowned out by sirens.  
  
"Coming up with any suspects now?" His words fall on deaf ears. I walk until I can see it all. Until I can watch my new sanctuary burn. It's like getting the chance I never had with the shop. People scramble to put it out, with their foam and their water. It's too late for. Even I can see that.  
  
"Youji." Soft words behind me. All of them behind me, watching with me. I feel numb. Empty. I'm not safe anywhere, am I? I can't count on a haven where I can lay my head down. Someone wants us dead. Someone burnt down our home. Two times.  
  
"FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK FUCKFUCK!" I yell, slamming my fists into the side of a labeled truck, feeling my knuckles make interesting cracking noises. I sink to my knees, forehead pressed to the achingly cold side of the vehicle, throbbing fists grinding into the paved road under me. How could this have happened? Why didn't I see it coming? I should have known something bad would happen. When doesn't something horrible happen these days?  
  
Omi is shouting. The words don't register anymore than Deramb's did to my cotton filled mind. I stand back up, unsure of what I'm going to do. I look at the flames, look at the glowing orange sky. Aya stands alone, as far from everyone else as he can get, staring at the same things I am. Suddenly I don't want to see it anymore. I push back past all the people I came by on my way towards the pyre, open the car, climb into the back seat. Sit there, sirens and raised human voices muffled squeals and rumbles.  
  
If only I could pass the rest of my life this way, muffled from anything too forceful or two unsettling to cope with. After a while, Aya comes to find me, climbs into the back seat as well, takes one of my hands in his, chilling me, but cooling the pain with the same efficiency of ice. We sit, listening to the mere murmur of chaos outside.  
  
----  
  
No one comes into the bathroom to bother me. They couldn't have even if they'd wanted too. I locked the door. I don't want someone in here watching me repeatedly throw up. All that food I'd crammed into my stomach is going to waste. I cannot even stop to think, or my stomach starts to roil again.  
  
My eyes water and burn from the strain, limbs trembling beneath me as I lean against the tub. Stupid fucking hotels. I hate them. Too many one night stands. Too many mornings like this present evening. Vomiting up my guts after a night of drunken revelry. Only this time I'm not smashed, and it's not even morning yet. I'm so tee-totaled that it hurts. I press my forehead against the side of the tub. Cold, like his hands. I'm starting to wish someone would come and see if I'm okay. Or is everyone as wrapped up in themselves as I currently am?  
  
I wait. My stomach calms down. I'm a fucking idiot. The house I'm living in is burn to the ground for a second time and I cope with it by throwing up. What kind of idiot am I? I should be plotting revenge, tracking down the culprits, raging and venting. Instead I throw up repeatedly.  
  
Even the bland water from the tap tastes metallic like blood in my mouth. I rub a damp hand across my eyes, wiping away tears from my bloodshot, watering eyes. Silence greets me outside the safety of the bathroom.  
  
There are only two people in the room when there should be three. There is only one room available, the man at the front desk had informed us. Some sort of game in town tomorrow, don't you know? Aya argues. No positive response is forthcoming. We stick with the one room, too tired to find another less occupied hotel.  
  
There were two double beds in the one room. We hadn't even thought to ask about that, picturing the four of us crowded into one small bed, too tired to be amused or annoyed by the mental image.  
  
Ken and Omi sit together, swathed in blankets on one bed. No one else.  
  
"Where's Aya?" I ask dully, looking around, wondering if he's perhaps hiding beneath one of the beds.  
  
Omi's asleep against Ken's shoulder; his closed eyes are about all that show, the rest of his face hidden by the coverlet.  
  
"He's not here. He went out."  
  
No shit. If he's not here, he must be out somewhere else.  
  
"He didn't tell me." Ken shifts around, making sure not to wake Omi.  
  
I sigh. Look around. Gods, why isn't he here? I didn't know it was possible to feel this lost and alone. The empty bed across the room mocks me. You aren't going to sleep here all alone, are you? Because no one bothers to stick around? Nothing is permanent.  
  
My feet move towards the already occupied bed. Without asking, I crawl across the mattress, push the blankets on Ken's side away, cross my legs and lean against his side. Human contact. It's all okay. Aya isn't here, but we're all okay. Just as always. Shattered into a million pieces, but still breathing.  
  
His arm comes up almost as a reflex around my waist. I pull the blankets back around us, sitting with them. It's too scary to lie down. Flat on your back and vulnerable. Sitting, you can still spring to your feet to escape the dropping guillotine blade, the licking flames.  
  
"Did he say where he was going to? Any guesses?" I whisper softy, mission style against his ear, consonants soft. Omi sleeps on, the sleep of the exhausted righteous. I don't think I'll ever sleep again.  
  
I stop shivering as our body heat reclaims the space under the blankets, and the vomiting induced shakes finally recede. His rough warm hand on my side, soft breaths from the sleeper. I keep raw eyes on the door, waiting for him to return. Eventually, Ken nods off, head leaning against Omi's blonde one. I promise myself that I won't give in. Someone has to keep watch. Someone has to be up and awake in case something bad happens.  
  
I fail. The next thing I know, I'm curled up on my side being awoken by the slightest of sounds, the door is opening almost noiselessly, footsteps padded on the carpet. I tense up, ready to say the word to wake the other two if it's not who I desperately hope it to be.  
  
Red hair peeks around the doorway; hand on the katana at his waist. I blink again. Their weapons were all in the building. He must have gotten a new one. He sets down a dark bag on the floor, gently shutting the door. He spots me.  
  
Ken mumbles as I disentangle myself, never opening his eyes. They're exhausted, claiming much deserved sleep. Why are we always so tired? Is that our burden? Absorbing the forfeited lives we steal?  
  
Aya smells of smoke as I engulf him in a desperate embrace. "Where have you BEEN?" I growl in his ear, arms tighter around him than I wanted them to be. I feel desperate, clingy. I thought I was supposed to be on a new independent kick.  
  
"Had to retrieve our weapons from the safety box." He whispers back, not bothering to elaborate. He lets some of his weight rest against my body, swaying on his feet. I press my forehead to his, breathing in the same air.  
  
"Did you go back to the house?"  
  
Even softer. "It's just the same. Nothing was salvaged. Nothing was spared." He looks so worn down, defeated. He only used to have that look when he'd come back from day-long trips all on his lonesome. When he'd be visiting his sister, I'm assuming. A sudden rush of trepidation strikes me.  
  
"Aya? Your sister?" I immediately dread repercussions. If he has been, and she's not okay, if she's gone, or dead, how will he react? It's not as if he'd tell me without prompting that anything was wrong.  
  
"This evening. I went. She's okay." Halting but calming in its expected expressionless tones. By this point, most of his weight in propped up against me, unable to even keep on his feet. He looks so fucking tired.  
  
"Which bed?" That's my only question. The made up bed across from us looks harsh and uninviting. Lonely.  
  
I watch as he toes off his boots, simply drops his coat on the floor. He must be about ready to collapse. I've never really seen him less than fastidious when it comes to neatness. One by one his garments are shucked off, left in a pile around his feet. He stops at boxers, moves past me without making eye contact, stands looking at the untouched bed.  
  
Ken and Omi are already warm, the air underneath the blankets a nice soothing temperature. Being surrounded by human flesh on all sides sounds fairly pleasant to me at this point. It's obvious by the look on Aya's face that he'd much rather be cold and alone then in a bed with three other people. Standoffish asshole. I'm cold and tired, and I know they won't mind in the slightest.  
  
I turn away, pulling off the stiff material of my shirt, keeping the pants on. Gods, it's always so cold. Hotel rooms specifically. Their heaters are geared to displease. Either it's ice cold, or its' desert hot.  
  
Aya presents his back to me; shoulders slumped, standing in front of that fucking creepy bed. Gods, I'm doing that mental thing again. Even I realize that by now. Adding human characteristics to inanimate objects. That doesn't stop the feelings though.  
  
"Aya?" I hold out a hand when he turns around. "It's cold over there."  
  
He doesn't shiver like I do, the cold in my bones more mind induced than physical discomfort.  
  
"It's just as cold over here." He stubbornly points out, whispering much as I do, a watchful eye on both our teammates.  
  
He would never do something as weak and human as that, depend on someone else. I bet even as a child he was the sort who would lie in the dark, trembling after a horrible nightmare, rather than run to someone for comfort. A weakness, needing other people.  
  
I need other people. I think I'd die without them. People would forget me, and then I'd be nothing, no one. Dust in the wind. No, don't worry. I won't start singing that song just now.  
  
He pushes the covers back, lies down right next to the wall, facing away from us. Set in his misery. Alone.  
  
The sigh is too loud to stifle. Taking one last look at the comforting tangle of limbs on the other side of the room, I slide between the glacial sheets. I hate cold sheets, being an avid worshipper of electric blankets myself. He jumps when I crowd up against his back. He's going to have to provide all the body heat then, I'm holding him to that expectation.  
  
"You don't have to." He mumbles, body strung tight with tension, offended dignity. "If you'd much rather-"  
  
"I'd much rather it was the four of us. I'm cold. I'm tired of things always fucking up. I'm tired of being alone. Tired of everything." I trail off.  
  
"I am certainly not going to-" He rolls over, indignant.  
  
I cut him off before he can start ranting and waking everyone up. "I know. I didn't really expect you to. That's why I'm here. You always play the loner. I bet even you get tired of being alone though. It's no shame." I reposition his arms around me to my liking.  
  
"Mmmm, warm." I purr, making the best of things. He's back and he's safe. And damn but his skin is warm. I almost smile for the first time this evening. Then his hands curl against my back. I clench my teeth to stop the yelp. "You and those hands! Wear fucking gloves." I reach around, pry his hands away from the small of my back, make a point of pushing them back towards him.  
  
A soft chuckle leaves his throat. I prop myself up on one elbow, leaning over him, hair trailing in my eyes. His eyes close as I lean in, the tips of my hair brushing across his face. They flutter back open when I drop a kiss onto his forehead.  
  
Overwhelming feelings rush me, looking down at his slightly startled expression. Does it really confuse him that much when I do something that's simply nice or caring?  
  
"Ah, what would I do without you?" I whisper against his skin, tucking neglected hands against my chest in a gesture of apology. "You really should wear gloves though."  
  
I tuck his head under my chin, feeling old and protective for a moment.  
  
"Tomorrow night." He murmurs.  
  
"You're still going to try and kill him?"  
  
"Even more than before, he has to pay. I will see him burn in hell." The words are spoken as an ultimatum. I sigh and rub my cheek on the top of his head.  
  
"Go to sleep, you make me tired."  
  
I stay awake to watch him sleep, all funned out for the day, not really tired at all. Several days of bed rest have sapped the need to sleep from me, I guess. There's little to do but watch through the night into the early morning.  
  
My foot is cold. My foot is very, very cold. That could be what finally wakes me from another accidental doze, either that, or the very, very hot mouth sucking on my earlobe. I mentally wish for luck and hope I won't be coming back to one of my more bizarre situations. I slide cautious fingertips along the face I find next to mine, unable to see in the absolute dark of the room.  
  
"Morning." A sleepy kiss is pressed to my lips. Things slowly trickle back into my mind as I settle down next to a blissfully warm body. Yesterday, the days before. I hate waking up. One moment you're all warm and content, thoughtless; the next your head is full of a bunch of things you'd rather not ever think of again. That's why I'm considering forgoing sleep forever.  
  
I kick at the covers, trying to get some heat to thaw out the foot I've had hanging off the edge of the bed for who knows how many hours. Lacking any better idea, I roll over, pressing my numb toes to the back of his calf. He doesn't complain. He has no room to.  
  
"How long have you been awake?" I mumble against his collarbone, making myself as small as I possibly can, reveling in the smothering warmth all around me. Did I mention how much I like being warm?  
  
"An hour or two."  
  
"What time is it?" I'm facing away from the clock I'm sure must be on the nightstand between the two beds. There are always clocks in hotel rooms. Clocks and bad heating systems. Gods. That mattress on the floor was pretty comfortable. There were uncovered windows too, with moonlight and sunlight, not this stifling blackness. I'd open up the curtains... but I'd get cold as soon as I left the bed.  
  
"Early."  
  
Thanks for the help, Aya. It's early. "To early for me. I'm going back to sleep." And, feeling hugely justified, I do just that.  
  
The next time I jolt into awareness, he's climbing over me, trying to get off the bed without waking me. He sees my opened eyes, my glare. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."  
  
I push him off the bed, pulling covers back over my head, listening to his muffled cursing. Serves him right. If you're going to sleep with a late riser, you must rise late yourself, or face the consequences. I will not let him corrupt me with his sleeplessness.  
  
The shower runs after a few moments, barely audible behind the closed door. Ken moans something unintelligible.  
  
"What?" I push the covers back.  
  
"I blame you." He says, moments before a well-thrown pillow hits me square in the face. Spluttering, I sit up; throw the pillow back at him. Accidentally bean a still slumbering Omi on the head. He wakes up swinging. Literally.  
  
"Wha?" Ken catches Omi's fist in midair, laughing uproariously. For a moment, it's just any other morning, nothing horrible on our minds. It's disturbing in a nice sort of way. Omi smiles, that huge adorable grin I haven't seen in a while, picking up the pillow and pounding Ken with it. "Nice way to wake a guy up!" He pretends to rage.  
  
After receiving several facefulls of pillow, Ken manages to gasp out my culpability. Omi dashes to retribution and without thinking, I grab up Aya's pillow, muscles moving in that old familiar fight-dance. He counters, and suddenly it's a full on pillow-fight between the three of us. A free for all. None of yesterday exists. It's all okay.  
  
Then Aya stomps out of the bathroom, wearing last night's clothes again, hair damp, face set and definitely unpleased. We immediately fall silent, guilty children, having laughed in the face of tragedy. I feel like I should bow my head and scuff my toe. Instead I steel myself for any upcoming repercussions and smack Aya upside his head with the pillow still dangling from my hands. I for one plan on kicking depression's ass.  
  
Aya steps back, growls and tackles me, pummeling me with the stuffed rectangle for all it's worth, heedless of my busted up ribs, I swallow the pain like so much annoyance. After a moment of startled staring as I attempt to fight back, Omi and Ken jump into the fray, brandishing pillows with a vengeance.  
  
By the time we finally wind up collapsed on the floor in a panting heap, it's a wonder that no one is banging on the wall telling us to shut up. I can barely catch my breath from laughing so hard. My sides ache from over exertion of healing body parts, but it's a good sort of ache, not the sickly pain of infection.  
  
Aya rests his head on my stomach, both of us sprawled out on the limited floor space. The corner of his mouth is lifted just the slightest bit, an almost smile. The place I was living after having been tortured and brutally raped multiple times burnt down the night before, and I'm laughing. I must be insane or emotionally disturbed.  
  
Apparently the others are starting to think the same things, the grins fading away to untimely demises.  
  
"I shouldn't have been laughing. Things aren't exactly funny right now." Omi sighs, looking beyond guilty.  
  
"What have we had to laugh about lately?" I point out. "Stop feeling guilty. Laughing at inappropriate times about inane things is better than moping or committing suicide or some other such dreary reaction." Aya's head rises and falls with each one of my exhaled and inhaled breaths.  
  
Ken shrugs. "I do feel a bit better, actually." He admits after a few moments. "It's like something has been lifted from the air, some hanging oppression." His posture sags. "We are still down by another home, without belongings or a safe place to live."  
  
"Tomorrow night, as planned." Aya speaks up.  
  
"You cannot possibly mean to carry on with that!" Ken sits up, startled.  
  
"The persecution will not stop until Ko-ishi is dead. He's behind all this; he's been behind everything happening recently. How can any of us sleep safe at night knowing he's out there, ready to burn, to kill at any given moment. Next time he may not be nice enough to wait until we're all not home." I immediately take up Aya's side. Not because I'm all-supportive now that I'm sleeping with him. I really just want to kill Ko-ishi. You can't blame me though. It's not like you didn't already know how self-serving I can be.  
  
Ken sighs, unhappy again. "You're right. I don't want you to be, but you are. I'm assuming you've already gone and picked up our weapons and the like?"  
  
"Speaking of which, what exactly is going on with that?" I bust in.  
  
"They weren't stored at the house, no incriminating evidence was supposed to be in that home in case of something like tonight. We left them with One-Eye."  
  
One-Eye should actually be called No-Eye. He's missing one, torn out with a fishinghook, or so the story goes, and he's blind from cataracts in the other. He's one of our main contacts for illegally procuring many of the implements needed in the assassination business. He's a tad eccentric and more than a little frightening, but he owns at least one of everything.  
  
"Could he fix up another watch for me, with my wire inside it?" I too sit up, sending Aya thumping to the floor. "One-Eye'd have something similar in stock, would he? If all else fails, a gun with a silencer will do the trick. I lost my watch way back when." I gesture with a hand, knowing they'll all know when it is I lost my weapon.  
  
"There's a whole day to get things done before night falls." Aya replies in his usual semi-cryptic manner. He says nothing about my still being banned from tonight's excursion. Maybe it's finally hit home for him, bringing down Ko-ishi is more important than attempting to protect me.  
  
"I have dibs on the shower!" I jump up, hobbling towards the shower when my limbs refuse to catch onto the enthusiasm.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"Well, I can get you all this, but it'll take some time. Or some adequate compensation." One-Eye's being somewhat sane today. Either a cause for worry, or relief. He's usually only full of coherent sentences when he's plotting against you. He's ratted us out to major corporations many a times, but there are no hard feelings. He's a neutral force unless you offer him a large enough settlement, then he's all yours. He's useful though.  
  
"We have no time to spare, but we have a surplus of money." Aya thumps down a duffle bag on the counter in front of the old man; it's obvious from the weighted thump that it's full of something solid and heavy, paper. Money.  
  
One-Eye gimps past us, turns the "Open" sign on the door over, locking the entrance while he's at it. "You have my attention."  
  
We give him a repeat of the list of things we need. Everything has been wiped out, except for the clothes on our backs and the like, we're essentially bereft of all necessary items. A wire for me, communication units, small and soundless, night goggles for the lot of us, though some of us have better developed night vision than others. One-Eye even has reflector suits in stock. Reflector suits: sort of glorified cat suits in their own right. The material they're made of all but absorbs light, sending off nothing but darkness, bouncing back even delicate alarm laser lines. I personally have never needed one, having stealth and common sense enough all on my own, but One-Eye assures us we'll need them. Aya asks for explosives. I don't bother wondering why.  
  
"I know who you'll be needing all these pretty toys for. The ones that have burnt your bases down, the ones that wait by your doorstep at night for the slightest slip up. They live in a fortress. You'll not get by with anything less than the best of protection."  
  
I wonder how he knows these things. He once tried to tell me the loss of his sight made him some sort of oracle or another. Bull shit. I told him I thought so, and laughing he'd made some obscure comment and gone onto another topic. He always knows what we're up to. I think we're in all likelihood some of the more amusing customers he has, most of them being personality-less yuppies, certainly not the paragons of death that we are.  
  
Heaving a sigh Aya asks the important question. "And how much is this all going to cost?"  
  
"I'm a poor old man, I need expensive medicines, a roof over my head. Such a tired old man." He moans, his way of trying to dredge pity out of our unsympathetic hearts. Unsympathetic for a reason. He has enough money to not only retire on, but to retire to a nice tropical island with a few hundred nubile young girls if he so desired. He's not going to get any poor-old-man-ing out of me.  
  
"How much?" I press, stepping forward, not that he could see me doing it anyway.  
  
"Calculated costs come out to be a bundle." He slides a hand written estimate across the counter top, every object's price written out and then totaled up. The handwriting is a tad unintelligible (give him a break, the man's blind), but the final figure at the bottom certainly isn't unclear. More than we'd get paid for a complicated, all night affair from desperate men. More than I've certainly ever made in a night's work.  
  
"Cash or account transfer?" Aya calmly asks, finalizing the deal without even a blink. I forget how single-minded Mr. Revenge can get sometimes. I'm not sure, but I think I like that in a man.  
  
"Oh, cash would be JUUSSST fine by me." He shows us a gap toothed grin.  
  
Aya spends a good ten minutes counting out the final amount. I decide not to ask when he managed to procure a bag full of bills. One of those things I'm better off not asking. In a matter of seconds, One-Eye has it run through a cash counting machine, which verbally verifies the required amount. He smiles again.  
  
"Come back in half an hour and I'll have everything ready for you." He takes a few smooth bills off the top of the neat stack on his front counter, holding the money out to Aya. "You boys go out and have a nice lunch, a treat from Uncle One-Eye." He smiles again, showing even more of his blackened gums. Any thief and murder would be proud to call him kin. He's a devious old bugger. I shake his hand in parting.  
  
We go out to get some food, but not with the old man's money. Aya put that back on top of the stack on the front counter. It'll be gone when we get back anyway, gods knows where he'll stuff all that paper money. He's a bizarre one.  
  
When we stop back he's got two small suitcases packed up and ready for us. We don't insult him by opening them and checking through them. That would be just plain rude. He's trustworthy; he has our money, doesn't he?  
  
We check into a new hotel to make ourselves a bit less of a target, run back out to buy suitcases of our own and a few changeable pairs of clothes. On a whim I pick up some vodka for tomorrow morning when I get home. I'm thinking it's going to be one of those time when only passing out will get my mind to shut down, my body to wind down to a manageable level.  
  
Omi whips up some coffee on the complimentary coffee-machine in the hotel room. I'm glad, I'm going to need all the energy I can get. We only have two cups in the room to go with the two beds. I'm the only one who's willing to go and get two more cups. Lazy dopes.  
  
The hallways are like ice, and my hands are cold when I get back. Aya hands over his untouched cup of coffee without a word, taking one of the proffered empty Styrofoam cups. Bitter coffee. I don't bother to sweeten the dark liquid. It's not worth it. After gulping down another cup, I sit down to hash things out one last time. I don't want a Reader's Digest summary from Omi this time.  
  
Fifteen minutes later my mind is swimming a few feet above my head. Gods, I'm tired, disjointed. It's cold in here, making me lethargic, discombobulated. I slump to the side, resting my head on Aya's shoulder, waiting for the spell to past. Fucking hell, why hasn't that coffee kicked in yet.  
  
"You look tired, Youji. Why don't you take a nap. We'll wake you up when it's time to go." Omi gnaws on his lower lips, eyes doing that sad and old thing again. Oh gods.  
  
"No!" I stand up, legs unsteady underneath me. Gods, I've been drugged before, why didn't I notice- "Aya?!" I whirl, not knowing what to expect on his face.  
  
Nothing. His eyes and face are carefully schooled, nothing revealed at all.  
  
"It was necessary." He tells me. He manages to stand and deflect the punch I aim at his face. The fucking son of a bitch!  
  
"Necessary! I was fine until you put that shit in my coffee, or however you did it! You need four people. You son of a bitch!" Nothing but rage now. He betrayed me. It doesn't matter that I wouldn't have listened to him and gone after them anyway. He fucking drugged me, doesn't trust me, deceived me.  
  
He lets go of my arms when I don't take another swing at him. Everything whirls wildly around me as my quickly beating heart speeds the tranquilizer throughout my body. I push away from him, refusing to look at those guiltless, expressionless eyes again.  
  
Things start to fuzz out as I fall to my knees.  
  
**************  
  
Well, I bet no one saw that coming. -laughs- akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com 


	11. Chapter Eleven

Drama, drama, drama. What more could a girl want? Other than gratuitous sex and tons and tons of chocolate? Uhm... more drama? Maybe? -eeps-  
  
**************  
  
For a moment I just lie still, mind an incomprehensible, muddled mess. I'm vaguely aware of the fact that I've been drifting in and out of consciousness for a long while now. I'm not up to betting on actual, factual time passages. Hours, minutes. They're all the same. If I move, my stomach will revolt and I'll wind up vomiting on myself. Something plays soccer around the inside of my skull.  
  
My eyes close again, exhausted and sick. When I wake up next, the room is black, an unknown coffin for me. I reach a hand out, wanting Aya to put an arm around me, remind me that I'm not alone in this dark. Cold sheets to either side, a piece of paper crackles under my fingers. I freeze. Gods, the dark knows I'm here now; I made so much noise. I need light, but if I sit up, something will be there, grasping for my throat.  
  
Half buried under covers, I mentally count to ten, prepared to lunge for the table that might be next to this bed, hoping for some sort of lamp. 'Ten' sounds in my mind. I can't make myself move. The dread is too great. I count again, goading myself with thoughts of Aya's scorn if he were here right this very moment.  
  
Then the truth flares. He betrayed me. Aya did. Ran did. Fuck. What he did went beyond any attempt at protection. The son of a bitch. He drugged me! Like a stupid fucking child that can't even make its own decisions. It's the most hurtful deceit I've ever encountered. They all are at first, but this won't fade with the passage of time.  
  
All thoughts of light are left in the dust as I lie there. What does it matter if someone hovers around in the darkness? All of them conspiring together. The closest thing he had to a family, Omi called us. Some fucking family. I saw his eyes, Omi's eyes. Guilty, but still standing firm. Aya's had nothing reflecting back but that eerie, blank indifference.  
  
I shut out the world, drifting down into depression, sleeping again as the drugs reclaim me.  
  
Thunder outside. Crashing and booming; loud enough to cut through my cloudy mind, to startle me into awareness. Another long count to ten as I try to steel myself for that blind grope into that unfathomable darkness.  
  
Lightening flashes bright, illuminating the room, highlighting a hunched figure by the TV stand. Then the light is gone. I hastily twitch the covers up over my head, making a tiny loop for my eyes to peer out into the darkness. Gods, when the next flash of light makes things visible, I'll see his eyes an inch away from mine, his hideous, grinning face.  
  
My heart thumps away so loudly I'm surprised no one has come descending down on me. Lightening again, nothing in front of my eye. I wait for the next flash. It's still where I last saw it. A dead body, an asleep one, an inanimate object, a predator in wait; it doesn't matter. It's not moving and there's a button I've spotted on the end table panel. I count again, arm slashing out to pound the button. I fling the covers back as light floods the room, wire strung between my bare fingertips, glad to have weaponry at my disposal once more.  
  
It's only a chair, piled high with clothes. I pause to breathe, ignore the desire to burrow back under the covers and just shake. I'll be damned if I'm going to hide.  
  
Paper on the other hotel bed pillow. I unfold it. A Spartan, emotionless note. 'I'm sorry. It was for the best.' Reader's digest condensed version of what for other people might be inner turmoil.  
  
I wonder if my being uninvolved is best for them just now, or if this improvement is permanent. Has he left, are they all gone now? I tear the note into small pieces. The clock marks the time as early, early morning. They should have been back by now. Unless something bad happened. Unless they're not coming back. Ken and Omi would have been kind enough to leave some sort of farewell letter if they were really going off forever. Other than Aya's sterile letter, I see nothing else addressed to me.  
  
Trying to take heart in my conviction that they haven't abandoned me, I stumble to the bathroom, scrubbing at my face with icy water. The drugs haven't entirely worn off yet. I stare at my reflection. A few yellowing bruises grace my exposed neck and face. Bloodshot eyes. Gaunt. I rub at my eyes a bit more. It doesn't help. I still look like shit.  
  
After sitting on the edge of my bed for approximately fifteen minutes, I realize this could turn out to be a long wait. Especially if they're dead. Late night TV doesn't have a chance of competing with visions of my deceased comrades.  
  
When the urge to put my fist through the television passes, I start pacing. I watch the time inch forward, minute by minute in red LED letters. Five o' clock now. There's never been a hit before this that kept any of us out until five in the morning. They're dead. They have to be.  
  
"Damn." Aya's coat is draped across the chair that scared the crap out of me earlier. With the reflector suits a coat would be just one more things to leave behind. Turning the television back on to some inane comedy, I burrow down into his coat, legs crossed as I sit on the edge of the bed again. I wish I hadn't torn up the note from Aya. No simple assassination takes this long.  
  
Two half-hour infomercials and one nervous breakdown later, the doorknob rattles. Eyes still burning with the rage-tears I'd yet to give into, I string my garroting wire out again. The son of a bitch, he killed Aya, Omi and Ken and now he's here to finish the job. I stay where I am, letting the wire coil back into my watch. If they're dead, it's only right that I be as well. I'm tired of the people I care for going off without me one way or another.  
  
Exhausted amethyst eyes meet mine. He leans heavily against the door frame.  
  
"You son of a bitch!" I jump to my feet, stomping towards him. He stumbles forward to meet me, no hint of remorse anywhere on his face.  
  
"Where are Ken and Omi?" I force myself to push him away. The son of a bitch. He has the NERVE to still be alive after all of this? If they're dead now, because of him...  
  
"There were other available rooms."  
  
"Why the hell did they get another room? There's nothing wrong with this one." I hastily pull his jacket off my shoulders, throwing it at a wall. It wouldn't do to make him think I was worried.  
  
"Because I told them too." He says flatly, sitting down right on the floor, slumping forward, holding his forehead up with his hands.  
  
I don't have a witty reply for that one, so I grab him and start shaking him instead. When all else fails, a little violence usually clears the way. "You son of a bitch! You go and do something like that to me! And then you fucking take away the one consolation prize I was to have from all of this mess, Ko-ishi's head on a fucking silver platter. You come back and you're getting ready to talk mother fucking monosyllables at me!?"  
  
He looks up at me, face drawn and defeated. I sit back.  
  
"Be glad you weren't there." He finally says. "It was a bloodbath. It made our usual routine seem like a walk through the park. It's going to be a long time before all that blood is gone from my skin." He peels gloves off his hands, material stiff and clinging.  
  
"I would give one of my limbs to have been there." I hiss at him. "But that apparently wasn't a fucking option in your mind. What did he do to you? Burnt your house down. Twice. You know what, I lived there too, and I went through a hell of a lot more from him than you ever did. You have no fucking idea!" I'm shaking him again by this point.  
  
He lets me, head lolling back and forth with each jerk, eyes focused on something just over my shoulder. I'm starting to feel guilty here, like I'm kicking a puppy. Which is wrong in so many ways. For one, Aya and "puppy" just don't equate. Secondly, well, he's the asshole who drugged me and then took away my chance to kill the man I hate more than anything. I'll be damned if he gets sympathy from me.  
  
He reeks of blood; the air around him reeks of blood, that metallic, sickening smell. "Whose blood are you covered in?" I start examining the flawless surface of the reflector suit he's still wearing, the glossy black fabric is stiff with some sort of dried liquid in many patches, but I don't see any tears that would indicate a wound.  
  
"Some of theirs, some of mine." He fumbles for the side zipper, pale fingers slipping off the thin tab again and again. He slumps. I don't notice a request for help. I wasn't expecting one.  
  
I sigh, one of my new favorite physical statements. "If you stand up I'll help you out." As always, I push aside my grudges, deferring to Aya and his belief that all he does is beyond correct and righteous. Why can't I ever stay angry with him?  
  
Hesitantly, he looks up, and I remember why I'm always giving in. Wouldn't you? To such a big, sad pair of eyes? He's better at this than Omi when he wants to be. Stupid softy that I am.  
  
"Gee, aren't I going to get my beating now?" he coolly snaps, effectively tearing down the whole cute/sad sway he was holding over me.  
  
"Maybe later, after I've found out where you're bleeding from, and how badly."  
  
"From hip to thigh. Multiple gun shot wounds." He makes another go at the zipper, stubbornly refusing to stand and receive assistance.  
  
"Do you want some help up then?" I ask, a tad irked.  
  
"Want a nice, soothing bath, Youji?" He retorts, rubbing my newly renewed fear of water in my face. Again, the urge to punch that smug face, take out of his flesh what I desired from Ko-ishi's.  
  
Another sigh. He doesn't deserve that. I wish he did sometimes.  
  
"Either you do or you don't. If you really do have bullets running up the length of your thigh, I think you might bleed to death a bit more slowly if you'd let me help." I extend my hand again, trying out my persuasive facial expression. I don't use it that often, it may be a tad rusty.  
  
He reaches out, grasps my hand. It turns out he really does need help to stand up; no sooner do I have him on his feet, his leg is buckling underneath him as he attempts to fall on me and knock me over. We half walk/half drag him over to the bed, peeling off the clinging fabric as we go. He has almost as many bruises as I do now. I don't know whether to wince or pin a shiny blue ribbon on his chest.  
  
It won't come off his side. Blood has spread in a wide ring and the edges are dried, firmly plastering fabric to skin. Blood could be the next big thing for the manufacturers of Elmer's Glue if what I'm seeing is any indication.  
  
"This is going to hurt." I caution. He shrugs, eyes glassy and distant. Trying the band-aid approach, I just yank down on the fabric as hard as I can, trying to detach all blood-dried fabric in one fell wrench. He doesn't make any sounds, so I assume it didn't hurt any, until I look up. Blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth, teeth marks actually tearing open his lower lip, his eyes are clenched so tightly shut I wonder if he's seeing white spots behind his eyelids.  
  
"I'm going to throw up." He partially staggers to his feet, stumbling forward as his leg refuses to hold his weight. I have no idea how he managed to walk around on it before. "I need to get to the bathroom." His voice is thick, muffled.  
  
I haul him around again, managing to rush him to the lavatory just in time. I crouch on the floor with him, rubbing his back as shuddering heaves wrack his body. He's getting blood on the bathroom floor. It's all but pouring out of his leg now that I've stupidly reopened. No Boy Scout medal for me.  
  
"Oh shit! You seriously cannot go dying on me now!" I grab one of the pristine white towels off the rack, trying to staunch the blood flow. "Where are Omi and Ken? What room number?" I transfer his hand into the key position, so he's the one holding the balled up terry-cloth, red already seeping through the many crumpled layers.  
  
"Room 275." He frowns. "Don't get them. They can't know. I don't need their help."  
  
"Like hell you don't need help, you stubborn bastard!" I pull down a second towel, drop it in his lap in case he'll need it, and dash off to find my two other teammates.  
  
Gods, I can't fix him. Medicine has never been my area of expertise. Aya and Omi are the ones we rely on for that. I quietly knock on the door trying to be considerate of the uninvolved people all around us. What if this isn't the right room, or they're asleep, or they're busy bleeding all over themselves?  
  
Omi opens the door in nothing but a towel, hair damp and eyes wide and wary. "Youji, please don't be angry right now. You can yell at me all you want tomo-"  
  
"Fuck that! You didn't notice Aya bleeding all over himself? I need you to get your ass over to his room right now. His leg won't stop bleeding, there's blood all over the floor."  
  
Omi bites his lip. "I'm going to let Ken know where I'm going." He disappears into their bathroom for just a moment, his voice barely audible over the sound of the shower.  
  
He hurries after me, holding the towel in place with one hand. We burst into the room. Aya's still on the floor wearing nothing but blood soaked boxers.  
  
"Aya! Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" Omi pries the unresponsive hands away from the now crimson towel. His breath hisses between his teeth in sympathy as he tries to wipe enough blood away that he can actually see the wound itself.  
  
"Youji, I'm going to need you to play errand boy." Omi looks up as he puts a new towel in place. "First, you need to get me some cling wrap, the stuff you wrap food in before you put it in the fridge. Any gas station will have it. Then hurry back here."  
  
I don't ask why he wants cooking supplies. I grab Aya's car keys off the table, running out to climb into the shitty rental car we're still relying on for transportation. The first gas station I pass is closed, and by the time I come across twenty-four hour one, I'm battling panic.  
  
It's been so long since there's been any doubt about one of us making it through the night. Why does it have to be Aya sitting there on the floor, his eyes blank as his life spreads out in a stain on the floor?  
  
No one pulls me over; for all that my driving barely conforms to government-sanctified rules. They're still in the bathroom when I return, scant minutes later. Aya looks barely conscious.  
  
Omi pulls a long swathe of the thin plastic off the roll, wrapping it tightly around Aya's leg, pulling the ends tight. The blood stops pouring out, trapped behind the plastic seal. He hands me the end to pull taut.  
  
"I need to get Ken, we'll need his help." He's really giving me a few moments with Aya. Gods, that doesn't seem to bode well at all.  
  
"If you even think about dying now, I'll kill you! Got it." I lean closer to Aya as soon as the blonde boy has left.  
  
He awkwardly leans forward, looping a weak arm around my neck before falling back against the tub. "Not so angry with me anymore?" he rasps.  
  
"I will be if you go and bleed to death on me. Well, not on me literally." The partial laugh turns to sawdust in my mouth, my voice breaks. "I haven't gotten a chance to yell at you for the stunt you pulled on me." I brush tussled bangs out of his eyes. "Omi can fix you, so I'll hold off on any scenes until you're a bit better." 'Cause I'm the king of wishful thinking...  
  
Aya closes his eyes and doesn't open them again during the five minutes that Omi's gone.  
  
I turn the collar of Aya's ill-fitting trench coat up against the wind as I pound on One-Eye's door. Not his shop entrance, but the alleyway door that leads to his above shop living quarters.  
  
"What the FUCK do you want?" The door is flung open as I find myself facing down a shotgun barrel pointed right at my face.  
  
"It's me, one of Weiss." I hold my hands up, not that he can see my gesture of surrender. The gun's aim is slightly corrected as he pinpoints the source of my voice.  
  
"It's late. This had better be pretty damned important." One-Eye doesn't lower the weapon.  
  
"I have to get a hold of a full first-aid kit." First aid kit in this business means the works. Medicine, antibiotics, burn crèmes, gauze, suturing thread, a cauterizing wand for if you're really in a hurry, government monitored pain killers; the works.  
  
"Come back tomorrow." He shoulders the weapon and goes to close the door.  
  
"But he's going to be dead by then! What sort of fucking use would it be tomorrow morning!" I block the door with my body.  
  
"That's what you get for going up against such a major corporation. You're lucky you all aren't trying to hold your own slit throats closed with your bare hands." He's relenting though. "Fine, but it will cost you double for the late hour."  
  
"I don't have money with me now, but tomorrow I'll return with account codes." I hope. Aya's the one who knows where the bulk of our money is, the account numbers, the banks, and the names they're under. If he dies... I force myself to stop that thought at its source.  
  
Mumbling obscenities under his breath, the old man stomps off, fully familiar with his quarters. I wonder what it would be like to be blind, to always be in the dark.  
  
Trying to distract myself with similar, pointless thoughts, I stand in the front room, jittering from one foot to another, hoping he'll hurry up. I didn't even want to be the one who came to fetch the kit, but Omi told me that I had no choice, that I'd just be in his way if I hung about. I'm just afraid Aya will die while I'm gone.  
  
"Here you go then. Thank of it as more of a gift, if you'd like. I'm retracting all charges, this is free of cost. For all our years of successful business together." He's wheezing and out of breath as he thumps down the large metal case. Of course, he'd be happier if we showed up with money tomorrow anyway, as a sign of appreciation.  
  
"Thank you." I don't waste time with small talk, grabbing up the heavy box, surprised by its weight and the fact that One-Eye could even carry it by himself.  
  
Throwing it into the back seat, I race home, probably startling the woman up at the front lobby desk with my wild-eyed appearance.  
  
They've moved him to one of the beds, towels spread out under his body. Omi himself still wears nothing but a drooping towel. He looks cold.  
  
"Thank you, Youji." Omi grabs the first-aid kit from me, opening it up on the bed. He sighs in relief. "Everything I'll need. Youji, Ken, could you guys relocate somewhere?"  
  
Ken has to drag me away in the end, when Omi's rationalizing doesn't convince me.  
  
"You think you're the only one who's worried out of his mind?" Ken demands harshly when we're safely behind a closed door.  
  
"I think I have the most reason to be!" I stand toe to toe with him. It's not him I'm angry at specifically, it's everything. He's just making the mistake of giving me a target.  
  
"He took those fucking bullets for me!" Ken slams me back into the wall. "I got out of there with nothing but a few scratches. He pushed me out of the way when I was being shot at. I didn't know he was hurt! He took those fucking bullets FOR ME! I should be the one in his place!" He growls into my face, fists clenching the lapels of Aya's jacket. Nothing but guilt and desperation are written across his face.  
  
He pushes me against the wall one more time before backing away until the back of his legs come up against the edge of a bed. He sits, face buried in his hands, shoulders slumped.  
  
"He pushed you out of the way?" I ask softly, padding closer.  
  
Wordless he nods, face still hidden. Gods.  
  
"You can't blame yourself for that." I sit down next to him, pulling him into a rough hug. This shouldn't be me; it should be Omi telling him that everything is fine and he's not at fault. His arms fold against his chest as he rests his forehead against my shoulder.  
  
"If I'd been hurt, I would have told someone, and I'd be fine now. Why did he do something like that! I'm not even worth saving." A dark undertone runs through all his words. I don't press for answers.  
  
"What makes you think you have the most reason to be upset by all this?" Ken asks, a sort of 'delayed reaction' question.  
  
I blink. Okay, now it's time for the talk. "Are you blind?" I wind up blurting out instead.  
  
He shrugs. "Not really. Just wanted to see if I could get you to confirm out loud. It'd seem a tad more believable."  
  
"What? That I'm sleeping with Aya?" I pull a Ken, bluntly stating the obvious.  
  
"Yeah." He rubs the back of his head, looking like some nervous character nabbed out of an over-exaggerated anime series. "Aya with anyone. Just sort of unrealistic. He doesn't act like most people do. I thought maybe if you actually said it, it'd seem a tad more feasible. It doesn't."  
  
"And you and Omi are what?" I jab defensively at his arm.  
  
"I am the most horrible person in the entire world." He says desperately, staring down at the floor, slumping once again. "I would have deserved being shot, and worse. I am a horrible, cruel, heartless person."  
  
"What are you talking about?" I inch away, wondering if his insanity is catching.  
  
"I don't love him." He tells me.  
  
I inch further away, fully out of my depth. "I'm not quite following you so far. Talk to me as if I were a very slow, very unintelligent child."  
  
He sighs, hands dangling down between his knees. "I don't love him. He thinks I do. He does. Love me. I only wake up next to him every morning because I don't want to be lonely. How callous and, just, well, heartless is that?"  
  
I start to say something; I'm not even sure what is going to come out of my mouth. He cuts me off before I can find out.  
  
"You know what it's like. Living the way we do, you can't have anyone outside the team. You can't date some girl and tell her about your day, you can't be honest with her or feel anything for her, because she'll just wind up dead in the end. And, I just... When Omi came up to me... and when things started to happen... what was I supposed to say?" He looks up, eyebrows drawn together. "It was supposed to be one of those convenience things. That way there'd be someone to climb into bed with if you didn't feel like lying awake in bed, or if you were lonely for a while. And what am I supposed to tell him? That he can tell me he loves me all he wants, but no matter how many times I parrot it back, I don't mean it!?"  
  
He stops, out of breath. "And I talk to much. I didn't mean to-"  
  
"Look, I'm not known for being the understanding, intelligent one, so listen up, because I'm only going to be this full of advice this once. First, I'm going to ask you something. Does he make you happy?"  
  
"Well, yes, but that's-"  
  
"I asked a yes or no question. Do you make him happy?"  
  
"Yes." He replies.  
  
"Then both be happy. Don't feel guilty. You want company and someone you can talk to when you need it. He needs someone who makes him feel loved. You're all you both need. Don't feel so guilty. It's not like you're deliberately using him. We are in a dire position, and sometimes that requires dire things to survive."  
  
"Like having sex with Aya?" He arches one eyebrow. I fight the sudden irrational urge to get offended, trying even harder not to flash back to visions of all that deceptively watery looking blood slicking the tan tiles of the bathroom.  
  
"Not like that at all. I'm... well..." I trail off, uncomfortable.  
  
He laughs, for the first time since this morning, then stops. "I can't just be like that though, taking things for granted. He makes me happy, yeah. I could keep going like this for years. We work out better than any relationship I've ever been in before... but, it doesn't. I lie to him, every morning; I wake up and lie to him. And I'm the reason you guys didn't know about us. For almost a year, and you guys didn't know. I was ashamed, worried what you and Aya would think about that. I guess I shouldn't have worried so much." He sighs again.  
  
"I am a horrible person though, and you cannot deny that." He goes back to examining the floor. "I look into those eyes, and I willfully lie to him. What sort of worthless trash would do that? After everything he's been through, all the people who have used him before this, and I go on continuing the legacy."  
  
"He came to you, you said?" I prompt.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You're both using each other in your own fashion. That's what life is all about. As long as you don't deliberately hurt him, you're not a bad person." I cross my arms, through with the topic.  
  
The door opens, right on cue. I jump to my feet as Omi peeps into the room. "How is he? Is he going to be okay?"  
  
"I got all the bullets out. There was a long stab wound running down his leg, right through several of the bullet holes. I sewed shut most of the slash. He's asleep now, but you can go see him if you'd like."  
  
I don't wait for any more before I'm down the hallway. Gods, he'd better come out of this all right!  
  
**************  
  
Ooo, worry! Feel the pain, feel the burn!  
  
akainobaka@hotmail.com  
  
Darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Here we are now, near the end of a very beautiful thing, or something like that.  
  
**************  
  
The room is so quiet. Of course, it wouldn't be anything else given an option. Aya isn't Mr. Talkative even when he IS conscious. I wish he'd open his eyes, just for a moment, so I could verify in my mind that he's not dead instead of sleeping. The temporary IV Omi has dripping fluids back into his body hangs from one of the wall fixtures, a casually draped appendage.  
  
For a while, I was continuously brushing at his hair, sitting on the edge of the bed and then moving, thumping around the room, selfishly hoping I could wake him by 'accident'. When that failed, I just settled down in one of those fake armchairs hotels always stock. Miniature armchairs. His breathing is so shallow, I have to sit and make sure he doesn't stop all together.  
  
The doorknob rattles unsuccessfully for a few moments. "Youji, let me in." Omi whispers softly against the door itself. I don't want to get up to let him in. He'll distract me; Aya could die while I'm not looking.  
  
"Youji?" Insistent.  
  
Growling under my breath, I pad over to the door, open it up for him. "There's a key card on the table over there, you're free to take it, I have another copy, and Aya certainly won't be needing it." I let out a bitter laugh. I'm starting to wonder if I'm coming slightly unhinged.  
  
"I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay over here." He presses his wrist to Aya's forehead. Violet eyes blink open. Irrational jealousy again. He'll wake up for Omi, but not for me.  
  
Mumbling sleepily, Aya tries to sit up, breath hissing out as he moves his leg.  
  
"No. You can't get up yet." Omi pushes down on his chest. Aya complies, face still tight with pain. I hover in the background, angry and jealous as hell.  
  
"Where's Youji?" Aya finally asks, looking around with unfocused eyes. The knot in the pit of my stomach loosens a bit.  
  
Omi motions me back with one hand. "He's at the foot of the bed. I need to make sure you're still doing okay though. He'll be over in a moment." He talks softly and soothingly like he would an injured animal, more tone than substance. Aya glares at him.  
  
The bandages covering his side and leg are still white, always a good sign in my mind. Omi, carefully peels back the edge, ignoring Aya's nakedness. "No sign of infection. If you keep up with antibiotics and keep it clean, you should be fine. You did lose a lot of blood though, and should stay in bed for a suitable length of time." Omi doesn't list a specific amount of time, probably so Aya can't hold him to it later.  
  
"Is it going to heal cleanly?" Aya curiously peers down, trying to see the wound himself. "I can't afford to limp."  
  
"I don't know. I cannot make you any promises yet. We're all young, we heal easily. Some important muscles were torn, but they may heal without a problem. Just make sure you rest and stay in bed." He's still using a bit of the sing-song voice reserved for those slow of wit. That could mean bad news for Aya. Omi's been known to keep the truth to himself occasionally when he felt it served interests better.  
  
He pats Aya on the shoulder, standing up. "Get more sleep." As the boy brushes past me, he quietly asks if I'd like him and Ken to sleep in the second bed tonight, for company. I shake my head, returning to the uncomfortable chair, to keep watch over Aya.  
  
"Did he tell you something I don't know?" Aya asks me faintly, fingering the gauze wrapping around the needle inserted into his inside elbow.  
  
"Nothing. If something is wrong, and I'm not saying it is, then he certainly wouldn't tell me. I'd be the first person to let you know the truth." I rest my palm on his forehead. It's a touch clammy if anything. After dragging another blanket off of the second bed and draping it over Aya, I settle back down into the miniature armchair.  
  
"You angry with me?" His voice is muggy.  
  
"Why the hell would I be angry with you?" I lean forward.  
  
"For drugging you and taking away your shot at revenge." He tells me, using that same voice Omi did.  
  
Oh. That seems like eons ago, Aya being injured is the present; anything else was days ago. Years ago. "No." I finally answer. "Not right now. I'm too busy being worried and hysterical to be angry at you." I grasp his outstretched hand, scooting the chair closer to the bed.  
  
"How are you feeling? Do you need anything?" I switch into nurse mode without a thought.  
  
"Omi gave me something. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as it should. I'd appreciate some water right now." He closes his eyes, relaxing slightly.  
  
I dash off to get him some tap water in one of the plastic hotel cups. When I step back into the room, Aya's managed to ease himself partially upright. The effort of sitting looks to be wearing upon him already. His hands shake so badly I wind up having to hold the cup to his mouth.  
  
When Aya makes motions towards an attempt at standing and/or removing the IV I forcibly keep him in bed. "Omi says you're not to get up. You'll only damage your leg, and LEAVE that alone." I swat his meddling fingers away.  
  
"So I'm supposed to do what? Unless you're going to fetch me a motherfucking bed pan." He growls, pushing back.  
  
That's my cue to turn a tomato-like shade of red. Damn. Okay, so maybe he can't stay in bed twenty-four hours a day. I help him hobble to the bathroom, holding up the saline bag, making sure he doesn't put any weight on his injured side, then stand guard outside the door, somehow or another having developed a sense of decency within the past few hours.  
  
I hear him retching again behind the closed door, feel guilty, but respect his privacy. Gods, these have certainly been a great past few days as far as the art of reexamining past meals is concerned. Maybe I should go visit Ken and Omi and take a few more tallies if at all possible.  
  
The bathroom door swings back open after a few moments with Aya putting all his weight upon the wooden frame. He doesn't refuse my help, probably having finally realized that resistance is futile. He honestly cannot stand on his own at this moment.  
  
"If you've just thrown up all the painkillers Omi gave you, I'm thinking you might want me to go get some more for you." I settle him back down onto the mattress, worried by the waxy-pale face in front of me.  
  
"Painkillers there." He points to the saline drip one more time, sagging down onto the bed, too tired to even pull up the covers. I tuck him in, sitting back down to watch him sleep again.  
  
"What did he look like, before he died? What did Ko-ishi look like?" I try to get one more answer out of Aya before he drifts back into the merry land of unconsciousness.  
  
"He was smiling through the blood pouring from his mouth." Aya leaves me alone with my thoughts.  
  
I'll bet he was smiling, the bastard. Thinking that he'd triumph over the situation until that very last moment. I slam my hand down on the arm rest of the chair, regretting the one chance I lost to have seen it, to have danced on his corpse and come home drenched in his blood.  
  
Aya's face twists in his sleep, hand clenching and unclenching on the pillow next to him. I carefully climb over him, slipping under the covers, oh-so-carefully lying next to him. He's going to stick his fist clear through my torso if I accidentally bump his leg. And I'd be willing to bet large sums of money that he's physically capable of doing so.  
  
The time passes slowly. I'm afraid to add a few more hours to the new sleep record I'm working on. The worry is still there, that he'll cease breathing as soon as I close my eyes, and I won't notice until it's too late. He lost so much blood. He could still die. Fuck. I don't even know how we're going to clean up that blood mess all over the bathroom. Blood stains. The towels, I'm sure it's on the rug from his clothes, on the tile, the bathmat, the bed. Gods. I rest my forehead against his cheekbone, eyes watching the faint rising and falling of his chest.  
  
Full-blown afternoon arrives, the barest hints of light showing against the curtains. I still haven't slept. I probably feel just about as horrible as I look now, the poorly chosen tranquilizers still fucking with my head just a bit. When I'm finally dozing off with my chin resting on Aya's shoulder, that goddamned door decides to open up again. They have the WORST timing.  
  
"It's just me." Omi peeps around the corner, doing his "cute" look, so I won't be irked. "Ken and I are heading out. The police wanted an official report from us."  
  
"About killing Ko-ishi?" I blink, utterly confused and none-too-awake.  
  
"No, about the burning of second house." Omi shakes his head and smiles pitying at me, only half-way joking. "Ken and I are going to look at readily available housing properties, get us set up somewhere local again. Aya's going to be cranky today, I'm guessing, but he still can't get out of bed, no matter what excuse he may come up with."  
  
"What if he has to use the bathroom?" I ask wryly.  
  
That gives him a pause for thought. "Well, that's the exception, I guess." He waves. "Anyway, I'll let you know when we get back! Don't you go dying on me!" He disappears from the doorframe. He doesn't realize how unfunny that is right now. Unless Aya isn't going to die, in which case he'd feel justified saying horrible things like that. I decide to take it all as a good sign, letting myself fall asleep for real this time.  
  
Hours later I wake again, still curled up against Aya's side. I'm still alive, so I must not have moved much in my sleep. His fingers are curled loosely in my disheveled hair. He watches me through half-closed eyes.  
  
"How are you feeling?" I nuzzle his temple, sleepy and warm and content.  
  
"I've been better." He shifts a bit, resettles his leg. "There's a note and a big plastic basin on the other bed." He informs me.  
  
"And let me guess, you're being good for once and staying put, but overcome with curiosity by this point, you want me to go and get it?"  
  
Grumbing at the loss of heat and peace, I crawl to the end of the bed so as not to climb over Aya and jostle any healing parts. He holds a hand out for the note, but I ignore him and read it first.  
  
"Aya's probably going to start ranting about wanting a shower or a bath sometime today. The answer to that is 'No'. He can't get his leg wet yet; I want the bandages to stay in place unless he bleeds through them, in which case you should simply call an ambulance. If he's really going to kick up a fuss, we went out and bought a big basin to put warm water in, and a nice big sponge. Don't have too much fun."  
  
Gee. Giving Aya a sponge bath... Fun? What would give them an idea like that?  
  
"What does it say?" He growls at me, sitting upright he's so ticked off.  
  
I reach into the plastic tub, pushing aside a bottle of massage oil so I can pull out the tan sponge, squeezing the round object in his face. "Ken and Omi want me to give you a sponge bath. They probably set up cameras or something while we were sleeping." I cheerfully assume.  
  
That manages to wrench a rusty chuckle out of him. "What does it really say?" He asks.  
  
"I just told you. They want me to give you a sponge bath." I'm laughing at Aya's disgruntled expression by this point.  
  
"Why can't a take a regular bath?"  
  
"You can't get your leg wet, and you're not allowed to take the bandage off." Always being one to comply and, as usual, run by my overactive libido, I happily sashay off to put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on our doorknob.  
  
Aya is still willing a painful death upon me with his eyes when I set the large basin of steaming water on the end table next to him.  
  
"If you'd go off somewhere else, I'm perfectly capable of doing this by myself. You don't have to play over-enthusiastic nursemaid." He crosses his arms.  
  
"Aww, is Aya... embarrassed?" I tease him, leaning over to brush a kiss across his tensed mouth.  
  
"I'm perfectly capable of wiping down my own body." He sighs, determined to make things as unpleasant as he possibly can.  
  
"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport, Aya. I can identify at least two-dozen people by first and last name that would willingly to give up years of their lives to get a sponge bath from yours truly. What makes you think you're so different?"  
  
"I possess morals and a working mind." He tilts his head to the side, instinctively knowing he's made yet another match point. I splutter, but honestly have no reply to that shot.  
  
"Being witty isn't going to deter me. You're the one with the bum leg, I'm the one with the sponge." I give him my standard predatory grin. He sighs and kicks the blanket away, still clad in nothing but the white gauze protecting his thigh.  
  
"Do your worst." He spreads his arms out, closes his eyes in a satirical position of submission. He's watching me from underneath mostly closed eyelids, pretending he's not. The brat, he's just being difficult.  
  
I dip the bath sponge in the warm water, squeezing out excess moisture, slowly rubbing soothing circles over Aya's tensed stomach, getting the last traces of dried blood away from the skin surrounding his wounds. He relaxes as the textured material massages away surface complaints, along with old sweat and blood.  
  
He's purring within moments, twisting to give me better access to his skin. Because he expects me to do the opposite, I make a mental hands-off rule and stick to it like one truly inspired. That doesn't mean I still can't be evil. His nipples harden instantaneously as I sweep over them, wanting to take them into my mouth, to taste the water on his skin, feel that puckered flesh against my tongue. I refrain. Never let it be said that I lack will power.  
  
Hazy eyes follow my hand with rapt concentration as I move to get more water for the sponge. He's enjoying this at least, one step in the right direction. I continue up, smoothing over his shoulders, helping him sit partially upright, cleaning the smooth line of his neck. He leans into me, tilting his face up for a kiss. His eyes flutter closed, lips water-damp.  
  
"Why did you pull away?" He reaches out for a handful of my hair; I sit back out of range.  
  
"Because, I'm trying to get you clean. That's the fun of it all. Now be a good lad and hold still."  
  
"I know what this will lead to. I'm only going to get sweaty and dirty again anyway. Better to get it over with." He sounds almost petulant, trying not to. I mentally thank Omi and Ken for being manipulative little bastards and leaving me this new form of amusement. If there's one thing that's more fun than actually having sex with Aya, it's unsettling him and confusing him to no ends.  
  
I only break the hushed silence once, to tell him to carefully roll over. Balefully, he cooperates, carefully rearranging his bum leg. I think he's almost regretting the neutral atmosphere. I guess he must have hormones of his own too. He must be chilled as the water dries in the cool air of the room, but he doesn't complain. He usually doesn't. The muted light makes his skin shine like polished metal, beaded drops decorating the line of his spine.  
  
"You want a back rub?" I ask, whispering in his ear. He looks over his shoulder at me, one cheek resting against the pillow.  
  
"In return for what? You're up to something, I've never known you to turn down an offer for sex. What is it you think you'll get from me instead?"   
  
Skepticism. For me? Why Aya, what reason could there ever be to distrust any of MY motives?  
  
"Nothing. I just thought you might like one after being battered around one night and then spending the next remaining day in bed." I lift one shoulder in a passive shrug. "If you're not interested though..." Five. Four. Three. Two. One.  
  
"No. I'd be interested." He remains stretched out on his stomach, skin mostly dry now. "Just as long as you don't try to use it as some sort of favor fodder you can use to get back at me for drugging you and leaving you all alone in a hotel." Even beneath the complacency of the painkillers he's floating along the influence of, the humor glints through.  
  
"I could care less about that." And I really could care less. There are more important things, when it comes down to it.  
  
I carefully straddle the backs of his thighs, making sure no weight rests on his wounded thigh, balancing myself, feeling ungainly as always. He lets out a relieved breath as it becomes obvious I'm not going to ignite the burning pains in his leg again.  
  
Mentally laughing at their conniving ways, I uncap the bottle of massage oil Ken and Omi left for us. You'd almost think they were trying to force a little kiss-and-make-up session. I'm assuming Omi came up with the meddlesome idea; it's more suited to the inner workings of his mind, not that he'd be happy if I went and wound up accidentally ripping Aya's stitches open by getting too ardent with him.  
  
The muscles under my hands are tense, and he stifles soft breathy words of relief against the scratchy material of the pillowcase. There are scars I'd never noticed until this very moment as the faint lines show silver against his luminescent skin. I try not to go protective all of a sudden. He's better at taking care of himself than I will ever be.  
  
I swing my weight off his body, kneeling on the bed next to his sprawled out body. He shifts to watch me as I lean down and brush my lips across one of the more prominent scars, a thick, pale, thumb-length's worth of old pain. A knife wound, I even remember the circumstances surrounding the mishap.  
  
"You have far too many marks on your skin." I nuzzle his ear; kiss the side of his neck, judging him suitably pacified by my hands. He grudgingly rolls over, a little groggy from remaining stationary.  
  
"When my side and leg heal up I'll have a few more. To live a lucrative life, one has to take risks. Sometimes risks leave scars. That's just how things turn out." He reaches out and pokes my torso, runs a cool finger along the old bullet scar that runs just under my left nipple. "It's not as if you don't have your share fair." He meets my eyes, both of us feeling nauseatingly mortal today. It's not fun being reminded that life really can take what it has so freely and at times not-so-freely given.  
  
I grab his hand before he can lower to his side again, bring it up to my lips, and kiss his cold fingertips. He sighs and tilts his chin upwards, cups my face with his dry palm. After a silence-laden moment Aya speaks.  
  
"You know, I'm the wounded one here. If you want a kiss you're going to have to be the one to move. I'm certainly not sitting up now." He almost smiles for a moment, eyes a little too needy for my general tastes. I lean over anyway. We're all a little desperate right now, how can I blame him when I'm probably worse than he is.  
  
He relaxes back into the indent his body has made in the mattress, tongue sweeping along my lower lip. I part my lips, holding back on any actions until he makes the next move. Trembling, his long fingers cup the back of my skull. That same old shivery feeling I'm getting used to, as I try to meld my mouth to his, make us of one body. It's been a long time, years, since I've been able to connect like this. I plan on making the best of it.  
  
His hand slides up my ribs, almost icy enough to detract from the pleasure of physical contact. I swear I'm going to buy him a fucking pair of gloves the next time I actually have money in my possession. Hell, I'd buy him whatever he wanted if he'd just keep kissing me like this, actually participating instead of letting things wash over him.  
  
My knee comes down between his legs, sliding forward to press the length of my thigh up against his erection. An almost painful tug on my hair. "Mm, be careful, that's attached you know." He pushes himself partially upright with one elbow, tugging my head back again, running the tip of his tongue down the column of my throat.  
  
I rub myself against his left thigh, unable to help myself as he gnaws on my neck, the wet mouth on my skin followed by the scraping of teeth. "Gods, right there." I tilt my head to the side, his grip on my hair somewhat loosened, trying to get him to land his mouth at just the right spot. "Umm, don't stop. I'll buy you a fucking diamond encrusted katana if that's what it takes." I know I'm going to have a plethora of red circles on my neck tomorrow, but I can't honestly give a shit.  
  
I run a hand down his smooth, clean chest, heading lower. He grabs my wrist, pulling back. "This may not exactly be good timing, unless you want to bring Omi in to put new bandages on my leg when we're through. Not exactly in the best of shape right now, as much as I despise admitting it."  
  
"So?" I lift one shoulder, shifting Aya grip until I'm the one holding onto his arm. I brush my lips across his palm. "So, you just lie there, and I'll do all the work."  
  
"I don't see how that will work." He leans away from my touch. Gods be damned. Now he's being difficult again. He's trying to drive me nuts, isn't he? There goes the atmosphere.  
  
"Simple. You lie there and trust me." I push him back down, leaning down for an all-consuming kiss. He sighs into my mouth but responds hesitantly as I kick off the last of my clothes. I lean my weight onto my elbows as I swing one leg over his hips. Comprehension seems to dawn in his opened eyes.  
  
"Youji, you're going-" I put a hand over his mouth.  
  
"Look, I'm quite horny right now, and so are you. If you're going to be difficult and uncooperative, I may be forced to go and find Ken and Omi and beat them senseless for setting up this whole situation to begin with. If we do it this way you won't have to move much and you won't tear any stitches."  
  
He pushes my hand away from his face. "I was GOING to say that you might want to use that massage oil as an impromptu lubricant." He frowns at me, obviously annoyed by my overeager interruptions. He stretches and tips the bottle until his grasping fingers can snatch it up off the bedside table. He uncaps it himself, stretches up for an almost forceful kiss while he occupies his hands, sliding them down along my spine.  
  
I tense up as one slick finger circles my asshole, just rubbing the puckered flesh. "Why don't you just get it over with?" My voice is slightly unsteady, though if I pretend hard enough, it won't have sounded so in a future memory.  
  
"Too tense." He mumbles against my mouth, finger still rubbing in small circles. I try to relax, the sensation utterly foreign to me. Aya mouths the curve of my ear, tongue whispering along its inner whorls. "You need to relax." One finger slowly slides inside me, a long, careful pause as I try to adjust. Hushed breaths eat up the silence.  
  
Then he starts to move, sliding a second finger in, trying to distract me with his mouth. "Nn, you don't have to be so damned thorough." I push back, trying for more sensation, feeling his body rock against mine as we both try not to push things. Gods, if it weren't for that damned leg of his...  
  
He tilts his hips upwards, fumbles with the bottle of massage oil again.  
  
"Really, don't bother." I take it out of his hand; drop it on the floor where he can't reach it. He shrugs and thrusts straight up and then in. A bare hint of discomfort. His muscles tremble under mine as he forcibly holds himself still. Gods, it's been a long while since I've been on the receiving end of anything. Slick hot skin, that unfamiliar feeling of being stretched, being filled.  
  
Shuddering breaths as I rock forward, ease myself back down. It's not so bad; I can't remember why I'm usually so averse to this. Slow, trying not to injure Aya again, tiny involuntary jerks of his hips as he tries to stay still and barely succeeds. He grabs my hair, pulls my face down.  
  
"You're going too slow."  
  
"No'm not." I pry his fingers out of my hair, keep moving, trying for more. Just having him inside me is sexy in it's own right, thinking about it. "I'm on top in the most literal sense of the word, and I'll decide who's going too slow." I nip the side of his neck.  
  
There's a fierce bunching of muscles beneath me, and the next thing I know I'm flat on my back with my legs up over Aya's shoulders.  
  
"You. Were. Going. Too. Slow." He sets about, trying to show me where I went wrong. Gods, he's right, the press of flesh against flesh, the shivering friction, everything. He scrabbles at my skin, trying for a better purchase, thrusts at an angle. Everything blanks out for a moment, comes rushing back to find me clawing at Aya's back, making these almost embarrassingly eager noises, shuddering under him.  
  
"Right there, hit that spot again." I push up with my hips, trying for a repeat of that mind jolting pleasure. He obliges without any apparent effort. "Mm, don't stop." Another rush of fast, hard thrusts and I know I won't last much longer. Then he stops.  
  
"Arrggh! You're trying to kill me!" I pound on his shoulder. "Why did you stop?" I try to keep myself from the desire to inflict real harm.  
  
"Going to make this last." He rests his flushed forehead against my neck, trying to steady his erratic breaths.  
  
"Not with your leg like that. We'll have other times to make a day of it." I grouse.  
  
He nods, still resting against my chest. I can read the pain in the lines of his body above me. I'd feel a bit more concern if I could, but I only have one train of thought when sex gets mixed into the scene of things. He starts up again, that raw, pounding rhythm, making up for lost ground.  
  
"I'm so close, keep going, don't stop this time. 'M so close." I can't help the mantra that works itself from my throat, mumbled words against his salty-sweat skin. "Just one more, right there, don't, gods, please, right there." He catches my lips with his, muffling my shameless begging, arms trembling from holding his weight up so long, from impending exhaustion.   
  
A quick succession of thrusts and I'm lost, that heady rush throbbing through my body, intensified as Aya brushes against my prostrate repeatedly, another one of those unexpected mewls forcing itself from my mouth. He collapses on top of my spent body, harsh breaths laboring, heart thundering against mine, sweat burning my eyes.  
  
"Crying?" Aya pushes himself up with trembling limbs, thumbs away the dampness on my cheeks.  
  
"No." I link my arms behind his slick back, burrowing my face into that safe spot where neck and shoulder meet. No place more perfect on any human being.  
  
Aya holds onto me for a moment, then eases out of my grasp. "Got to get the weight off." He gasps, shakily lowering himself onto his back. I let him settle down and then continue regaining my breath while I try to keep as much of my skin touching his as possible. Comfortable.  
  
"You doing okay?" I rest my palm against his stomach, feeling the contours of our similar muscles.  
  
He and I both look down at the bandages. I don't see any blood seeping through. "Want me to take a look at it? I'm not doctor, but I can tell the difference between good and bad for the most part."  
  
Aya shakes his head. "It doesn't ache as much as it did last night. Worse than a few hours ago, but not when it first happened. I'm too tired to care."  
  
I'm not too tired to care about his health, but I'm not up to arguing him down yet.  
  
"What a waste," he continues, "I told you I'd just get sweaty and dirty again." He gives me another almost-smile, closes his eyes to nap. I lie helplessly awake, scrutinizing his relaxed profile.  
  
"Well, which choice we make depends on how we're going to divvy up." Omi solemnly tells us.  
  
"You can't really use a word like 'divvy' to describe the distribution of people, can you? It makes us sound like potatoes or some other such food item." I look up from the foot massage I'm giving Aya, seated at the end of the bed. Aya pretends I don't exist and I'm not doing anything as abhorrent as touching him in the presence of others. Good to see he's feeling better.  
  
Ken and Omi sit cross-legged on the other bed, papers spread out in front of them, building plans.  
  
"You know what I mean. Are we going to need two rooms or four, do we want four separate homes, two separate homes? How do we want to do this?" Omi fiddles with a stack of advertisements.  
  
"What do you want to do?" Aya asks him.  
  
"I just- I'd really like for us to stay together. We're a team. We could keep being assassins, it's a very prosperous career. I like us four together. It's just more familiar, more comfortable. More like a home. We could afford any sized house we wanted, we could start up a new flower shop and still have hundreds and hundreds of thousands of dollars left over. Funds aren't a problem."  
  
"I sort of like the idea of another big place for all of us, too." Ken pipes up, maybe because he'd go along with what made Omi happy, maybe because he really does think that.  
  
I sigh, switching feet, trying not to smirk when Aya's eyes momentarily flutter closed. "I'm with you guys."  
  
We all look expectantly to Aya. He lifts one shoulder in a lying-down-shrug. "Fine with me."  
  
Omi gives us a sunshine smile and kicks a stack of papers off the bed. "That eliminates those! Now, how many bedrooms in a house are we talking about? How many bathrooms, do we need a gym, do we want to see if we can get a swimming pool? Specifics. Actually, as bedrooms go, it's really only three or two as our option. I'm sharing with Ken." He beams, obviously thrilled by this development. I wonder why Aya hasn't had a coronary by this point.  
  
Aya and I both manage to blurt out "Three" and "Two" respectively at the exact same time. Then we have a frowning contest while Ken and Omi watch, uncomfortable.  
  
"Why would we need to share a room?" Aya glares at me. "We can afford not to double up, it's not like we're staying together to split up rent."  
  
I sigh again. Okay, so, now he's in denial again. Oh well, he can't gripe if I stash all kinds of inebriation causing substances in my room then. Again, I'm too tired to shout him down to a reasonable solution. If he wants to pretend that he's not sleeping with me, if he wants to pretend Omi and Ken don't already know, that's up to him. If he wants to escape from me, so be it. We all have our quirks, I guess.  
  
"Three bedrooms it is then." I make a point of deliberately dropping Aya's foot and moving further away from him. He can do what he wants, but that doesn't mean I'll be nice to him about it. He has the good grace to look a tiny bit guilty.   
  
"I'd definitely like a finished basement, or something with wood floors I could turn into a gym." Ken flips through options. "Or maybe something we could work on. A fixer-upper, you know? It'd be fun to pick how everything winds up looking, choosing everything on our own and putting it in." Ken does a passable impression of Omi's puppy dog expression. He holds out a fact sheet, hopeful to the umpteenth digit.  
  
I lean over and take the paper before Aya can even think of asking for it. He's not supposed to be up, so anything more than a foot or two is beyond his reach.  
  
A three bedroom two-story with a fourth optional bedroom, large kitchen, dining room, two bathrooms, a basement and an off-house cellar, a living room and a library/den designated room. It's fairly large, judging by the number of rooms and the square footage listed on the paper. It's also about fifty years old and deeply mired in the pit of disrepair. Ken's ultimate fixer-upper.  
  
"Could we actually live in this building while we repaired it? If it's in as bad a shape as the price itself tells me, would I be better off spending a fortune on outdoor camping gear?"  
  
"We could fix things up. Ken and I went to go look at it. There aren't big holes in the roof or anything. There are a lot of things that need to be repaired, heating and electricity type things, a bit of remodeling. Nothing a few coats of paint and a month or two of random repairing won't make livable."  
  
Time for my third sigh of this discussion. "So, you want me to live in an insect infested shack while you put in new everything. If you think you can make me sleep on another mattress on the floor in something like that, you're beyond wrong!" I deign to hand the sheet over to Aya's outstretched hand after waiting a few pointed moments.  
  
He shrugs after reading through everything. "If you can argue down the price a bit considering the work it sounds like we'll have to put into it. We can stay in a hotel until it's in any condition to be inhabited." So our mighty leader speaks. If he's set, end of story.  
  
"Are we going to let people know we're back in business? You know which people I mean." Omi cocks his head to the side. He means the people who buy death from us. I'm sure they'd all be glad to hear that their champions of greed and success are back for another bout of life wrecking.  
  
"After Aya heals up, we probably should." I receive another batch of rage in disguise as a pair of beautiful amethyst eyes in response to my statement.  
  
"Who said anything about my needing to heal?"  
  
"Youji and I have so far, Ken will as well if you give him a chance." Omi almost smirks, an unbearably adorable expression of mischief for him.  
  
Aya growls and mutters under his breath. "Whatever you want is fine. Go buy the damned house." He rolls partially onto his other side, not really angry but unwilling to let things pass without a little bit of a sulk.  
  
The Cheerful Duo bounce up and away to acquire their new dream home. I watch the door slam after them.  
  
"They do sort of know that we're sleeping with each other." I tell Aya a bit balefully.  
  
"And? That makes it an established relationship?" He looks back my way. For a moment I want to strike him, hit him in retaliation for all the crap I put up with for him, not expecting this new bit of rudeness for my troubles. He rolls over, trying to make it look like it's a painful move for him.  
  
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." The words are stiff and mechanical, but he's trying to really mean them. He levers himself up into a sitting position, going against the long list of don't-dos that Omi left for him. He wants me to move up next to him so he doesn't feel like he's reaching across an entire room. I know the look in his eyes. I don't oblige. I don't readily comply with those I'm not in an 'established relationship' with.  
  
"No. You shouldn't have said that." I agree evenly. "If you decided this was nothing more than a few fucks in a time of need I'd have appreciated hearing it privately instead of in front of Omi and Ken." I consider getting up and leaving him to stew in his own juices. I have nowhere else to go. No car, only one pair of clothes, no money. I settle for staring at the wall, ignoring him for all I'm worth.  
  
If he'll just let it drop I'll forgive him in no time at all. I'm not good at staying angry at people, especially Aya. If he'll just leave me alone I'll force myself to see that he's right, even if he isn't and things will be fine again.  
  
A rustling of covers and a hand on my shoulder, the touch partially masked by the blanket around my shoulders. When no reaction is forthcoming on my part, the hand becomes a pair of arms wrapped around my waist from behind, a chin resting on my shoulder.  
  
"Did you want this to be the real thing?" He sounds surprised.  
  
"No. Of course not.?" I try to keep the sarcasm from dripping off my voice in thick, viscous torrents.  
  
Aya lets out a deep breath against my hair, carefully stretches out his leg, moving with the ginger care of the truly wary. At least he's going to attempt to take care of himself this time rather than totally denying all injury.  
  
"You haven't exactly ever cultivated a reputation for seeking out long-term relationships with people. You like, what did you call it? 'A few fucks in a time of need'. I assumed that's what this was. You feeling unsettled and clingy after some bad things happened to you. Things have partially passed over and I'm assuming you'll be tiring of me in no time at all." He doesn't move, settling more weight onto my back if anything.  
  
I explode, pushing him away, jumping to my feet, and throwing the blanket at him for lack of a better outlet of my anger. "Didn't we already have this talk? Several times over? I'm tired of fucking being alone! I don't want a quick, free fuck when I can't pick up someone better at a bar. I'm tired of living like that, some sort of bored wastrel. How many times do I have to tell you before you believe me?  
  
I pause. "Unless you're trying for a blameless letdown because you're not interested in the slightest." I cross my arms. "I'm tired of being jerked around as well. Just spit it out. You want this to be a faded memory, I can make it so in a heartbeat, won't even effect your stupid fucking team-balance."  
  
Aya blanches. "That's not what I'm saying either. I'm just making sure before I jump to conclusions. I'm much better with action planning then I am with words."  
  
I count to ten, hold my breath; let it all go again. Time to exercise that forgiving nature of mine again. I dump myself down on the bed next to him, watching him, waiting for him to come up with more things to say.  
  
"Would an apology do?" He glances over, handing my blanket back. I wrap it around my shoulders, shrug.  
  
"I am sorry, if it helps. I shouldn't assume things. And this is as good as you're likely to get. I don't like apologizing." He ends on a stiff note, half defensive, half apprehensive. I almost smile. He's so screwed up; you've got to at least be entertained by that. I am amused by it, sometimes. When I'm not on the receiving end.  
  
"It helps, a bit." I force a smile. "Hey, we're officially on our way to yet another new start. Let's not begin on bad terms with each other." He leans against my shoulder, issue forgotten for all appearances.  
  
I run my words through my head again. 'I'm tired of being alone'. Just like Ken. Am I setting myself up to use yet another person? Is this going to be the same, using but not feeling guilty because he's doing the exact same? I sigh for a fourth time, sickening that I'm counting them at all. Why can't life ever be straightforward?  
  
FINIS!  
  
/pYup, this took some work, both times through! If you'd like to continue on with the sequel, you'll find it on my webpage: http://www.geocities.com/darkhunterfinatic . I'm re-editing the sequel and posting as I go along. Anyone left who still needs to e-mail me? Hehe! akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com They're both real e-mail addresses! In your FACE!!! Can you deal with THAT!! -sprites away to act insane on her own time. 


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